The Last Melody: A Rue Fanfic
by rueprimgaleANDfang
Summary: This is The Hunger Games from Rue's perspective...with a few twists at the end. Read and review?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Reaping

My youngest sisters laugh and play outside. I can see them from the tree I'm in. Of course they do, since today is the last day they're allowed to. Tomorrow is the worst day of every year. Tomorrow is everyone's nightmare. Tomorrow is the reaping, and this is the first year that I'm not safe from the Hunger Games.

The Games are a cruel thing; each year the Capitol randomly sends someone to draw two names from glass balls. One boy and one girl from each district, between ages 12 (like me) and 18 are sent to the Capitol before a fight to the death on live TV. Mostly Districts 1, 2, or 4 win, meaning they had the last living tribute. But that's only when their food supply doesn't run out...

It's been a tiring day in District 11. I've just begun the four-note song that means the end of the workday in the orchard. The mockingjays, some of my best friends, pick up the tune and echo it to everyone so they can go home.

Tonight, my family of eight will not eat dinner. We are saving our food and money for the meals tomorrow. At least two, hopefully all three, will include me. Only if I'm reaped will I not eat dinner with them.

I wake up the next morning and all 5 of my younger sisters are curled up around me in bed. The oldest, Lilac, looks at me with concern. She is afraid of the reaping. Not for herself, because she isn't eligible for about 3 more years. But Lilac is scared for me...that I will be sent to my death today. I want to reach over, tell her it's okay, that there is no chance I will be picked, but we both know better. There's always a chance.

Since no one could sleep in if they wanted to, I carry one of my youngest sisters, Aspen, to the large meadow not far away from our house. She is only 4, but she toddles around picking strawberries anyway.

At home, we slowly pick at our breakfast of strawberries and groosling leg. And I don't mean we each got one. Everyone shared. When we can't eat more, I take 6-year-old Rosie's hand and lead her to the orchard. Next year, she will begin her work there during harvest.

My first day in the orchard was horrible. That was 5 years ago, when Rosie was a baby, now-2-year-old Lavender, Aspen and her twin, Willow, weren't alive yet, and Lilac was very young. I'd left early in the morning. The workers there had handed me an outfit at least two sizes too big, and sent me up to the highest branches I could reach. All day, I'd picked fruit and leaves and had been rewarded with nothing but being able to remove my stiff boots.

The mockingjays sing my tune to us, but I respond with a different song that my mother taught me a long time ago. They cannot sing words, but the mockingjays will flap their wings and chirp any tune back. If they like your voice. When they don't, you have to stop singing, and fast. Rosie twirls around, gently echoing my song with a sweet voice. Her footsteps are so light, she could have stalked anyone in full daylight and they wouldn't have noticed for a long time. I pick up a slow, lazy buzzing sound.

"Rosie, let's turn around." I say cautiously. If the buzzing is what I think it is, then I need to get her out of here.

"Okay, Rue." My little sisters trust me completely, and Rosie responds to my sentence earnestly.

We walk quickly, a safe distance away from the sound. Towards the far end of the orchard, my friend Poppy waves and grins.

"Rue! I can't believe the reaping is _today!_ I mean, it's scary but, you know, we won't get picked...right?" Poppy gushes. I nod mutely, remembering why she is excited. It's her way of showing fear. Because exactly 5 years ago, Poppy had an older brother. His name was Ash, and he was chosen to be in the 69th Hunger Games. Since then, Poppy refuses to believe that anyone else she knows will be picked in the reapings.

"Yeah, Rue won't get picked." Rosie says confidently. "I know she won't." What Rosie doesn't know is that I am signed up for tesserae. Six times. So this year, my name will be written carefully on 9 slips of paper. Next year, it will be 18 slips. And so on until I'm eighteen and my name will be on exactly 63 pieces of paper. Rosie thinks I have one entry. She thinks there is no chance of me going to fight to my death in an arena. But I probably have the most entries in my age group, and more than a lot of the richer kids that are older than me. Only my parents know this.

Poppy listens thoughtfully. Then she babbles on.

"Do you think it will be younger kids or older or both? I think an older boy and a younger girl..." She finishes quickly and is now out of breath.

Her deep brown eyes light up as she smiles. I know what she is thinking; that the tributes this year will be kids we don't know, like the last 4 sets. Poppy looks a lot like me and my sisters. Dark brown hair and eyes, satiny brown skin. Everyone here looks like this, except the well-to-do, who have lighter skin, a pale brown hair color and sparkling green eyes.

Rosie looks up at me hopefully. "Do you think it will be people we don't know? 'Cause that wouldn't be as sad. Only for the people that _did_ know them...not us though...not us." A small sadness creeps into her innocent face, and tears glisten in her eyes. Poor Rosie. Until this year, she never really understood the process of the Games, just knew that the kids who went did not return. We told her they all stayed in the Capitol afterwards. Only recently did I tell her the truth, the real reason 23 tributes never came home to their families.

"Yes, Rosie. It'll be okay." I try to keep a comforting tone, but even my voice breaks at the end of my sentence. My little sister presses into my legs and I place my hands on her shoulders. If she has trouble with the Games now, the next few hours will be horrible. Of course, they will be horrible for me, too. The first year that I'm vulnerable to the point where I have no idea what to do besides cross my fingers and hope it's not me. For Rosie, and Lavender, who is too young to be frightened by this day, and Aspen and Willow, who still don't know the truth behind the Games, and Lilac, who seems the most concerned, because she remembers the past years, has watched children die before I could lead her out of the room, who knows that there is still a chance of me going away for good, I must act like I know what I'm doing.

"Yup! It's gonna be okay this year, because...the worst year has already happened." Poppy says, starting off cheerful, but even her eternal happiness is put aside by her then solemn tone. She swallows hard.

"Rue? Is that you?" a shy voice whispers.

"Yes," I reply. A small figure come into view. It's Lilac, holding Lavender. I reach out and take Lavender from her arms. Lilac relaxes and smiles at Poppy. Lilac's smile is the most stunning I have ever seen. Her pure white teeth stand out against her coffee-brown face, and her eyes shine like the dewdrops we find on the leaves in the orchard on the spring days after it rains.

Lavender reaches up in my arms, and I know what she wants.

The smooth pink fruits hang about 10 feet above our heads. I brought these home a while ago. I always make sure not to eat a bite of a meal before all my sisters are satisfied. This scares my mother half to death, but I make sure she sees me eat my smaller portion of the meal. But that day was an exception. I had eaten half the fruit by the time I arrived home that day. All the other girls had been out playing, so I'd given the rest to Lavender. Whenever she came to the orchard, which was not often, she'd reach up and expect the fruit.

"No, sweetie. We can't climb up there." I tell her.

Lavender frowns. "Why, Wue, why?" She can't say my name yet, although I've been working with her since she learned to speak.

"Because we can't climb up there. I can, if you want a fruit, but you have to share," I compromise. Lavender reaches to the fruit again, so I take it as a yes.

Poppy takes the toddler from my arms; I begin to climb. Focusing hard on climbing, I grab a large fruit and drop it to Lilac. She catches it, and I make my way back down the tree.

Using a sharp rock, I split the treat into five pieces and hand one to everyone. I keep the last for myself. Rosie finishes first, looking the happiest she's been all day. Even Lavender knows this is a rare thing.

Actually, it's illegal to take the fruit and I could be killed, but on the day of the reaping, even the Peacekeepers are busy elsewhere. Probably helping set up the stage for today's event, or dragging in the glass orbs that will be filled with possible tributes' names.

Lilac tells us that she is going to get ready at home. At the Reaping, everyone dresses up. It's an old tradition in the districts. I nod and say that I will be there soon. Lilac scoops up Lavender and walks off.

"Okay, well I have to change too, so I'll see you at the square." Poppy says. Then she jogs off towards her home.

Rosie and I finish by gathering her favorite berries, called Moonbeam here, and when our basket is full, we bring them home for lunch.

Still no one has much appetite. Only Lavender, who is too small to understand any of this, chews a tiny handful of berries. I'm pretty sure even she can sense something's wrong, though.

After "lunch", I help Aspen and Willow get dressed in matching purple dresses. I put their dark brown hair into two shoulder-length braids each, and slip little black shoes onto their feet. Lilac can dress herself and Rosie, and my mother is helping Lavender.

We all meet in the cramped living room of our house. My father is in a deep blue suit that I didn't know he owned. Usually we can't afford things like suits and new dresses, or even the materials to make them. All my sisters' outfits are my old ones, only worn a few times each, except for Aspen's. Hers is a duplicate of Willow's hand-me-down. My mother saves up each year to make one twin a new dress, and every year they alternate. When that reaping is over, the second dress is sold to buy a new one the following year.

Rosie is in a pale pink skirt and a cream-colored blouse. Lavender is wearing a baby blue dress and has a matching ribbon to hold her hair back. Lilac is wearing my clothes from two years ago, a ruffled black skirt and deep green hand-knit sweater. My dress is new this year, and I am very excited to wear it.

It is lime green, with wooden beads along the stitches. My shoes are some of my mother's old boots, cut open on top to create sandals.

At about 1 o'clock, we slowly begin our walk to the main square. Rosie and Willow grip my hands tightly, and the others are connected to them. Before the Peacekeepers can separate us, I hug each little girl tightly, then my mother, then my father.

I'm herded with some other 12-year-olds to the very back of a roped off area. The older kids are in the front, because they have better chances of being picked. Their names are, whether they sign up for tesserae or not, put into the glass spheres seven times. A child my age without tesserae would have only one entry.

A Capitol woman with electric blue hair climbs up the steps to the stage and begins the very boring speech about the Hunger Games and the wars and floods and earthquakes and fires that led to them. It is the same one every year, and I effectively tune most of it out.

"Ladies first!" a voice calls. This must mean the speech is over.

Now I stand alert, fingering the beads on the skirt of my dress. All I can do is desperately hope the name called is not mine, or Poppy's, or any of the other teenagers I know.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor!" The woman takes a deep breath before reaching into the ball with the girls' names. Her fingers pinch the first slip of paper they touch, and she pulls it out. Meticulously, she smooths out the paper, as though she wants to make it last as long as possible.

Then she reads out the name.

I feel a hard grip on my arm, and a boy I don't recognize looks concerned.

"Hey, you need to go up there." He tells me, sounding apologetic. My thoughts are blurry. Was it my name they called? No...it couldn't have been me. But a voice that sounds like the Capitol woman's floats through my thoughts.

And the voice is saying, "Rue Vera!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks so much for reviewing and putting this on Story Alert! It makes my day! **

**If I get 5 reviews by the end of the weekend, two chapters go up next week!**

**Disclaimer: I no own THG, sadly. However, I own any characters, places, and bits of plot that do not appear in The Hunger Games. **

Chapter 2: Good-byes

Lilac and Rosie come sprinting to me, grabbing my arms and sobbing. I try my best to keep a straight face. Little Rosie, who was sure this morning that my name would not be chosen. And Lilac, she was so worried when we woke up.

I know that tears are streaking down my cheeks as I turn from my sisters, so young, who will mature over the next few weeks more than in the rest of their lives put together. My steps to the stage are slow and careful, like I'm afraid of slipping on invisible, imaginary ice.

When I get to the stage, I stare into the faces of the crowd. I see Poppy, who is trying hard to muffle her heartbroken wails. I feel terrible for her; hadn't she had enough Hunger Games tragedies? I'm wishing I could talk to Poppy, but I'd have no idea what to say. Because everything will not be okay. We both know that.

"Any volunteers?" the blue-haired woman asks.

There is a rule that a boy can volunteer for the boy called, and the same one applies to girls. The original tribute is sent back home, and the other goes to the Games. This rule is usually only used in Districts 1, 2, and 4. There, kids will rush forward to sacrifice themselves for the joy of killing and the pride of being a tribute.

But I know there will not be volunteers. I have no older siblings or friends, and even then, most wouldn't volunteer. So the woman lets the wind whistle for a minute, and nods. Then she asks everyone to applaud the newest tribute. No one claps. They don't like the Hunger Games, and they hate when 12-year-olds are picked.

I'm stood on the girls' side of the stage, shivering in my thin clothes. Why did I wear a dress?

I watch silently as the boy tribute is called. His name is Thresh, and he has to be double as wide and about 2 feet taller than me. Or more. He looks scared, but shoots me a comforting look. Somehow, I manage to smile back.

We are introduced as the new District 11 tributes. There's another long speech, but I'm busy watching my sisters' faces. They look shocked and incredibly sad. So I think of a happy time with all my sisters.

It was Aspen and Willow's fourth birthday. My parents and I had saved up enough for eggs, flour, butter, milk, and even a little chocolate. As a present to them, we'd all made the cake together.

Lilac had started a small fire to melt the chocolate with, while Rosie helped the twins pour milk and flour into a bowl and mix it with the butter. Only my parents had known how to crack eggs correctly, so they did that part. I had supervised everyone.

As soon a Lilac finished melting the chocolate, I'd helped her scoop it into the bowl with the other ingredients. We could not afford real tools to mix it with, so I had also scraped the outside of eight twigs off and given everybody one. All of us worked together to stir the batter until it was the same brown as our skin.

The celebration stopped when we realized we needed to bake the cake. I volunteered to walk Aspen and Willow around the town to find a family with an oven. A small amount of money jangled in my pocket, the leftovers from the cake ingredients, which were beginning to freeze in the February evening.

None of the houses we'd checked had an oven, except one lady who screeched like a rusty hinge and shooed us away. All three of us were shivering in out worn, outgrown jackets. It had been an hour since we'd left.

Willow suggested the bakery, but I told her it was too expensive. Which it was. Aspen thought of the richer part of District 11, but that was too far to walk and those people didn't want us there.

Another 20 minutes later, a scent wafted toward us. Fresh-baked cookies, which we could never afford but had smelled from the bakery many times before. Our legs drifted by themselves to the front door of the house with the delicious cookie aroma. Aspen knocked on the flimsy wooden door tentatively.

It swung open; a man and woman, maybe in their early thirties, looked warmly down at us.

"Would you like some cookies, kids?" the man asked.

"Um...we were actually wondering if you had an oven we could use. See, we have cake ingredients, but nowhere to bake them." Willow explained in her adorable girly voice.

"Oh, sure. Come on in, and it will be done in half an hour or so." The woman said kindly. Gratefully, we'd stepped in, and talked to the pair before ecstatically bringing the finished cake back home.

Everyone had cheered, and for one of the first times ever, my family went to bed with no hunger pangs. Not only that, but there had been no nightmares for any of the little girls for at least a week.

I could still picture that night perfectly, one of the happiest nights of all our lives.

Then I realize with a heavy heart that I'm on a stage, and I've recently been called up to participate in the Hunger Games. The speech has ended, and the anthem of Panem is played. Thresh and I step to the middle of the stage and shake hands.

Some Peacekeepers grab my wrists and lead us into the Justice Building. We are each assigned a room to wait in while our friends and families make their way across the crowded square, past the people betting on how long we will live, past the glass orbs where my name is still written on six slips of paper, past the stage where I just stood.

_It's nice in here. Pretty,_ I tell myself. And it is. The Justice Building has thick carpet and couches made of a soft material someone calls velvet.

I wait for my family to come in, so I can say my goodbyes. They all know as well as I do that I won't be coming home again. I hope that, for their sake, I can survive past the first few days. Maybe Thresh can be victor, and then they will be better off.

The door of my room creaks, and seven very familiar faces look at me with what I can only call tragic expressions. Lavender clambers into my arms, Aspen and Willow sit on my lap. My parents are on either side of me, my father holding Lilac, Rosie in my mother's arms.

They are allowed 15 minutes. For five minutes, we sit like that and I hug Lavender, Aspen, and Willow tighter to me every second. Rosie and Lilac have their skinny arms around my shoulders; their tears soak through my dress sleeves.

"Okay, now we need to talk," I say suddenly. "Lilac, Rosie, Aspen, Willow, and Lavender are _never_ to sign up for tesserae. You can get by on what we gather. If you need meat, trade with the butcher. Mom, Dad, always make sure the kids eat first. That they get enough to eat. Lilac, it's okay," I add, because her eyes are filling up with tears so quickly I'm afraid she could drown in them.

My parents nod, say they will take care of all the kids, and look away so they can wipe their wet eyes without me noticing. But I do notice, and that makes this all so much harder. Even my parents, who have always known what to do and how to help, are defenseless now.

"But Rue, you'll try really hard to win? Promise?" Willow asks; a small ray of hopefulness illuminates her young face.

"I promise." I try to keep my voice steady, but I can barely manage those two words. _Yes, I'll try my best. For Willow, and Aspen, Lavender, Lilac, and Rosie. My mother and my father. I have to stay alive for them, _I think.

I hear footsteps outside the door, and I hope it's not the Peacekeepers. Sure enough, there they are, right outside the door, telling me that my next visitor is here.

Turning back to my family, I give a small nod.

"Bye, everyone. I love you all," I manage before my lungs seem to close off.

"Bye, Rue," they chorus. I feel like I'm in a different world, someone else's life, until one last sound breaks my trance.

"Bye-bye, W-Rue!" Lavender has said my name correctly for the first time in her life, and I'm sure this is the last time I'll hear it.

"Lavender," I whisper sadly. Baby Lavender, who will probably now be told the ugly truth of the Hunger Games. At least she won't understand until she's older. Though when she is, and it hits, her sadness will be even worse.

Aspen and Willow also never knew the secrets of the Games, and definitely will by the time they fall asleep tonight. If they can sleep. I wish I had told them now, so they wouldn't have to face reality the same year that their oldest sister is the one "living in the Capitol" forever.

I can only hope that my parents will remember to cover my sisters' still-innocent eyes at my death. Rosie and Lilac will look away by themselves. They've accidentally seen enough deaths to know when one is coming.

I remember Lilac's reaction the first time I couldn't turn the TV off fast enough. The only reason we even had a TV was so that the Capitol could show us the Games and reminders of what happened to District 13.

That was the 72nd Hunger Games, the year Lilac turned seven. It had already been a horrible year for her; she'd begun work in the orchards, and like me, she was too thin and short for even their smallest sizes.

Lilac and I were on our worn couch, watching the last four tributes ward off a mutant squirrel attack. One of them, the boy from 7 that year, was bitten by a squirrel. With his leg now a bloody mess, he'd limped around for a few minutes before keeling over. A cannon fired, and I quickly turned off the screen. But Lilac had seen the empty look in his eyes before the hovercraft had come to pick up the body. She'd watched him fall to the ground lifelessly, glimpsed his mangled leg.

Her arms wrapped around my waist, and I tried to comfort her, but there was no way to erase the image from her mind. At age seven, I had not experienced this kind of thing. My parents made sure of that. The only reason my mother was not here now was because she had to take care of Lavender, only a few days old.

It had been weeks before Lilac could sleep soundly after that. In the next two years, though, she watched more deaths before we could do anything, and each one took a little less to fade from her thoughts.

My death would be different. That would scar all of my sisters for life.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm ba-ack! Hi! Thanks so so so so so so much for reading this! It makes me happy! :) So, yeah! I realize some of this rambles on and on…but hey. I wrote it a year ago.**

**Rue: rueprimgaleANDfang (from now on referred to as Chrissy, which is NOT her real name!) does not own The Hunger Games, as awesome and amazing as she is…but she does own the names of my sisters!**

**Me: Thank you, Rue. *hugs***

Chapter 3: The Tribute Train

The Peacekeepers had lied; I had no more visitors. Possibly Poppy had come, but been too scared to actually say goodbye. So they left me alone in the fancy room. I was to stay here until Thresh's visitors had left, and then until the tribute train came. So I twirl a strand of thick dark hair around my finger, thinking hard. My idea is that if I can get used to being alone now, it won't be so bad in the arena.

I'm coming up with strategies now. I can't hunt, but I'm good with a slingshot. Considering my small size, climbing is easy, and I know a lot about what's safe to eat. That will be my way of preventing starvation: plants. If there are any in the arena, which will be a surprise. My only other thought is mockingjays. I hope there will be some in the arena. If you know what to look and listen for, they let you know when there's danger.

The train is here now, and Thresh's visitors are gone. We are pushed into a car, and driven to the train platform. The Justice Building gradually disappears behind us. I turn to face forward in my seat, and try to enjoy the first car ride of my life. It's not too long, and within a few minutes we can see the tribute train.

I try my best to wipe the tears from my face and get a normal expression when I see the cameras. The train station is swarming with them. But compared to Thresh, I'm invisible. So I tiptoe behind him onto the train.

A Capitol woman, the same one who called names at the Reaping this morning, yells at the people with the cameras. It takes her about ten minutes to yank the door shut, because people shove themselves into the gap and click more photos. A few cameras are broken when she slams the door the rest of the way shut.

Then she turns to us and introduces herself.

"Hi! I'm Flora Baum! So, Rue and Thresh, right? I thought so. Well, here are your rooms. Make yourselves at home! You have free reign here!" She is pointing to two doors on opposite sides of a hallway.

There's a sudden jolt, and I guess the train is moving. I walk into one of the rooms. It is even more beautiful than the Justice Building! I lay on the large bed, and stare sleepily up at the ceiling. Only a few minutes later, I'm fast asleep.

When I wake up, I realize that I never got dinner. That isn't rare for me, but I know there was a lot of food last night. Tugging on a skirt and green T-shirt, I amble to the breakfast compartment. Thresh and Flora are waiting for me.

The food laid out on the table is probably the amount my family gets in a week, and I'm supposed to eat it in one meal? There are oranges, which I recognize from the orchards, a basket stuffed with bread rolls, thin slices of meat, and other things I can't even name. Flora babbles on and on about all the fun she's going to have this year, while I bite off small bits of "A croissant, silly!".

When I finish my croissant, Thresh and I are led to a room with a large TV.

"We're going to show you the other reapings now!" Flora announces, as though this were some great festival we are allowed to take part in.

I make a note to stay away from District 2's tributes, a boy and girl at least double or triple my size. They look mean, almost murderous. Which, I remember, they probably are.

From District 12, another 12-year-old is called. Her name is Primrose. Aside from having blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, she looks like me. The same size, the same stiff steps up to the stage. The only real difference is that an older girl rushes forward to volunteer. No one volunteered for me. Even if one of my sisters had been eligible, I would not have let her go in my place. The girl now on the way to the stage is apparently Primrose's sister. Well, she would be on her way to the stage if the younger girl hadn't put a vice grip around her.

A boy pulls the younger girl off, and whispers something to older sister. Sobs rack the little girl's body. The older sister nods, but stays emotionless for the cameras. This is probably something she's practiced a lot.

I bet my sisters are practicing the same thing. Surely my mother won't send them to school or the orchard tomorrow. My eyes fill with tears and everything is blurry. I wish my sisters were here. No, that would mean they'd be dead in days. What I really want is to go home to District 11. I want to hold Willow, tell her a happy story, and let her fall asleep with her head on my shoulder. I want to walk with Lilac to the orchard and teach her how to sing for the mockingjays. In my head, I see Rosie dancing gracefully under the tree branches and humming a tune to herself.

I have remind myself that here, I am no longer the oldest. In fact, I'm the youngest person here, will be the smallest in the arena. I can't act protective anymore; I need to be as young and innocent as Aspen.

My sisters have made me feel like I'm the oldest, the biggest, and will always be strong enough to protect them. All that is gone. I can't protect my family here.

I remember feeling so special when Rosie had tripped and skinned her knee, and I'd known what plants to use to heal it. I had told her to sit down on a tree stump, had pressed the leaves to her knee, and wrapped it up in a piece of a pillowcase at home. My father was so proud of me then. "Rue, you are amazing." He'd said, and I smiled bigger than ever. One time, when Lavender had a cold, only last winter, and we couldn't afford medicine. I'd gone to the meadow and picked a bucketful of the herbs my mother had described. Lavender was feeling better by the next morning. I will never be able to take care of them again.

I walk out to the end of our compartment and sit in a chair that is carved with intricate designs. Letting the tears well up, I think of when I was five, Lilac was two, and we had no idea how terrible the Hunger Games were. Then, we spent most of our time in the meadow by our home.

One day, we'd tried to catch the beautiful flying things called butterflies. Lilac looked up in awe at the blue, winged creature. Her small hands reached out to it and tried to capture it. No luck. After a few more tries, she began flapping her arms and stumbling in circles. I thought this was a great idea and for a long time, the two of us had run around pretending to be butterflies. When Rosie was born, and had learned to walk, Lilac taught her the game, too. Even Lavender learned how to run after the butterflies. Will she ever wobble after them and yell, "Rue, look at this!" only to realize I'm not there? Or will she never play the butterfly game again?

I get up and go to the compartment where we had breakfast this morning and sneak another croissant. Nibbling on the snack, I walk back to my room. I get about 3 minutes to rest before Flora interrupts.

"Come on, Rue! You can see the mountains!" I sigh, get up and follow Flora's voice.

"Little girl." Thresh's voice is right behind me. I look up, confused.

"Yeah?"

"Did you see that little girl on TV? Lot like you." He grunts.

I'm about to answer when Flora chooses that second to pipe up.

"Rue! Thresh! We're heeee-er!" Flora singsongs the last word, and I swear I can hear every exclamation point being formed in her shallow brain.

The Capitol looks fake: all the colors are too bright, the buildings have windows that could probably blind me, and the people seem to decorate themselves as a hobby.

I see people who not only have colored hair, but some have dyed their entire bodies! Tattoos and gems randomly create designs on their arms and legs. Even the people who I know to be old from TV don't look it; they do surgery here to make people skinnier, younger, and weirder. Some even have whiskers or webbed toes. But the most disgusting of all is the woman with deep, red cuts carved all over, spelling out words and creating pictures on every visible part of her body.

Wow...and I thought Flora was weird-looking.

The train stops, and another group with cameras is ambushing the station. They will film our arrival. I myself on a large screen that is actually attached to a building. I look scared, but curious. Good, that's perfect for the young role I'm trying to play.

We are rushed to the Training Center, where I will meet my prep team and stylist. District 11 gets the entire eleventh floor, so Flora punches the 11 button in an elevator and we are pulled up. The outside of the elevator is glass, so we can see everything below us.

Flora tells us that our stylists and prep teams are all new this year, so they will be somewhat rude. Thresh and I nod. We both know that if they are rude to us, then we will act the same way.

"So go to the door that has your name on it and knock. Then your prep team will work on you, and after that, you get to meet your stylists!" Flora trills.

We reach our floor, and I knock carefully on the door marked Rue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much for putting this on Story Alert and…the other thing that I forget. **

**Oh, and if any of you awesome readers like Maximum Ride, too, I have a crossover called Suffocation! So, um, it's in the crossover section.**

** Disclaimer-Gale: This crazy child does not own The Hunger Games or its characters. Suzanne Collins created my world, and only her.**

** Me: I am NOT a child! I guess…but I do own any characters not in THG!**

**Gale: *readies arrow***

**Me: Enjoy…*runs away***

Chapter 4: The Capitol

"Ow!" I scream as a woman in a lime green wig attempts to yank the millionth knot from my hair.

"Sorry," she says, sounding everything but sorry. She is angry at me for complaining, happy to have a new tribute to dress up, and sad that I'm not older so she could do more extravagant things with me. Her name is Flotia, and she's part of my two-person prep team.

Flotia's arms are covered in small diamonds. Gem, the other half of my prep team, is painting my nails. He won't let me look though. I don't even get to meet my stylist until I look "presentable". Which means my hair is brushed, my nails painted, and every hair besides the ones on top of my head is gone. That mainly meant I got my eyebrows plucked.

Finally, they're finished. My nails are the same green as Flotia's hair, and there is glitter in my hair. The glitter reminds me somehow of the pink, shiny fruits in the orchards of District 11. Did I really only pick one yesterday morning? It feels like longer. I hope that Lavender gets to taste another one sometime soon. She loves them so much.

I think of the little girls, who are on their second day without me. Do they miss me as much as I miss them? Yes, I'm sure they do. Rosie will surely have gotten treats from neighbors. They love all of us, but Rosie is the only one old enough to go around by herself, and the only one young enough that she does't need to work in the orchards. The sweet shop has a program where it will give one piece of candy to every child of a tribute's family each week until the Games are over. After that, they are allowed one piece now and then, usually when they are having a bad day.

"Hello? Rue?" Gem has said my name a few times now.

I sadly drift from my thoughts. "What?" I ask, feeling dazed.

"I _said_, put on your robe and you can go meet your stylist," he tells me with an annoyed tone.

I put on the fluffy robe I've been wearing part-time, but they let me keep what they call a bikini on underneath at all times. Which I appreciate a lot.

Flotia and Gem practically drag me across the hall, to a door with a sign reading Birch. Then they leave me alone again. The door swings open to reveal a medium-height man with brown hair that I doubt is natural. Birch's eyes have been altered too, so they look as wide as a young child's and are a perfect blue-green.

He does not even introduce himself before blurting, "We have a little one this year, don't we? Shame, they never make it." His voice does not make it seem like a shame at all.

"You would know, since all you do is decorate yourself and dress kids up for slaughter!" I cry, fighting to stay brave. I have never spoken to anyone this way. My voice doesn't sound like my own.

That doesn't matter though; his deep voice drowns out most of my words. "Now, child. Let's not make enemies, shall we?" Birch replies coolly.

"Don't call me child, please," I say with the same distant politeness.

"Well, we actually have a feisty tribute," he says, surprised. He sounds gentler than before.

I don't want to talk, so I look at him cautiously. I remember an old saying that my mother once taught me: 'If looks could kill...'. Well, if they could, he'd be as dead as the 23 losing tributes will in a few weeks. As dead as _I _will be in a few weeks. That thought is painful. Besides the Hunger Games and the whippings in my district, I don't deal with death much. So I do what I can.

Once, Poppy and I had found a hurt mockingjay. It had been laying on the floor of the orchard.

"Is it dead?" Poppy asked anxiously.

"No, not yet." I answered. Poppy scooped up the bird and held it in a similar way to how I held Lavender.

"It has a heartbeat," she informed me. So we brought it back to her house and wrapped it up in a thin towel. Poppy's mother managed to spare some berries for us, which we fed the mockingjay.

Gradually, the poor thing got weaker and weaker. After school about a week after we'd found it, I went to visit our pet.

Poppy had opened the door with tears in her eyes. "It's dead. The mockingjay is dead!" she said miserably. Then Poppy pointed to a spot in the dirt nearby. Dust formed words on a large white stone. 'Mockingjay'.

"Oh, no. What happened?" I asked, very much in danger of crying.

"I don't know. One minute, it was even chirping, and the next it was silent...and then I went to check on it, and it was d-d-dead!" Poppy's voice broke on the last word.

Aspen joined us a few minutes later, asking what was wrong. We tried, and failed, to keep straight faces as we explained the story. Aspen's then-3-year-old face had gone from curious to deeply disturbed in seconds. I hated to see her in pain...

"Hello? Hey! I'm talking to you!" A voice makes my memories vanish. I blink, startled, and glance up.

"What's your name, little one?" Birch speaks as though he were talking to someone Rosie's age.

Indignantly, I point at a sign hanging on a nearby door. It is bright yellow, like a rue flower. The one I was named for. I know the first thing I can think back to seeing as a baby is the small, yellow flower. "Rue" was also the first word I learned to say, not because it was my name, but because I loved the flowers so much and wanted a name for them. Then I'd skip around singing the word over and over, until my song was a jumble of made-up words.

For years, I'd brought one flower to school every day and drawn a face on it, claiming it was my twin. I'd found it unfair that Aspen and Willow were twins and I wasn't. When Lilac was a toddler, we picked lilacs for her. Rosie got roses. Aspen got a small branch of an aspen tree; Willow received a willow branch. Lavender had, only a few days ago, plucked lavenders from the meadow. I thought the tradition belonged to my family and my family only, so I was furious when Poppy carried an orange and yellow poppy around. We were six then, and had just become friends. For about a week, I'd wanted nothing to do with her. Eventually, Poppy had asked what my problem was. She even apologized when I explained why she shouldn't have "her" flower with her everywhere.

Again I am pulled from my fantasies by that voice. "Rue...that's a pretty name." Birch muses.

That is when I decide to make a list of twenty ways to make him leave, the worst being possibly strangling him with his own tie, the most harmless being my loudest scream. "Thank you," I answer stiffly.

I notice that there is a window about ten feet in front of me, so I settle down enough to watch the other tribute trains pull in. District 11 was one of the first to arrive. They come through a tunnel in the mountains. I hate those mountains. In school, they say that the Capitol is in what were once called the Rockies. District 11 is built on the remains of Southern California and Northern Mexico. I have a hard time saying those words; they are much more complicated than just "Panem" or "District 11".

Anyway, the reason I hate the mountains is that they helped the Capitol win the war that created poverty in the rebelling districts, destroyed District 13, and created the Hunger Games. Having an elevation advantage made the Capitol fighters able to find and shoot down enemies at long range. Without the higher shooting platforms, I might not be going to face my death in a few days. The hundreds of tributes before me would have been able to live happy lives. At least, as happy as that district got.

District 1 lives luxuriously. But District 12, even the better off, still live in danger of starving, or freezing to death at night.

Birch is sketching something in a notepad. Then he flips open something shiny and blue and speaks to it like he's having a conversation. Yes, I know what these are. I have never used one, though. It is a telephone. Most likely he is talking to Thresh's stylist. Finishing the plans for my opening ceremony outfit. Or maybe calling someone to bring a dose of sleep syrup for me. Not that I want to sleep, but I don't think Birch would be too sad if I were quiet for a couple more minutes. Sleep syrup is the only medication that we have easy access to. It's somewhat cheap, and helps with most basic sicknesses. No one in my part of District 11 can afford to either pay or become a doctor.

Birch continues pulling a brush through my hair. The knots seem to never come out. Finally, he speaks again. "About your opening costume. Any ideas?"

One of the best things about getting here early is that, unlike other tributes, I get a say in my opening ceremony costume. So I nod. "Yes, but I don't know how to make it a costume," I venture.

"And your idea would be..." Birch is looking at me with genuine curiosity.

"Well, I love the fruits in the orchards back home. I miss them so much." The longing is evident in my voice.

"What do the fruits look like?" he asks softly.

"They're pink and shiny, about as big as my fist, and have bright little leaves on top," I think of them fondly. The fruit reminds me of happy times with my sisters.

There is a pause while Birch writes something down on a notepad, scribbles it out, and starts again. He repeats this a few times before asking, "How about we put you in a shiny pink dress and shoes? Then we can paint the fruits on your nails, and put sparkles in your hair again."

"Perfect!" I smile. Things are starting to look up. If only the thought that keeps creeping into the back of my mind would go away: _None of this matters. You'll be gone and forgotten in just a few days, maybe a week. If you're lucky. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi! Okay, so this is chapter five! Also, I just realized how terrible some of this writing is, and I'll probably edit a few chapters and repost them. Not sure yet. :p But…I did this over a year ago, and in book-obsessed-constnatly-writing-fangirl years, that's a lot. :) Oh, and also because this was a year ago, the district industry for 5 is wrong. Whatever. **

Chapter 5: The Opening Ceremony

"Do you want to know what Fuchsia and I have planned for your partner, Thresh?" Birch sounds excited, at least, for him. Fuchsia is Thresh's stylist.

"Sure," I reply.

"Well, you'll find out tonight!" He laughs and picks up his phone again, but stops to add, "But I promise you he won't be sparkly."

I giggle, and as soon as the sound escapes my lips, I want to take it back. Not that I never laugh, but I don't want to seem happy about the night that is just invented to make rich people spend all their money on tributes in the arena.

Then Birch leads me to lunch, telling me he has placed the order for my dress. I pretend to be thrilled, and I really am when I see what's for lunch. Plates of thinly sliced chicken in a creamy sauce, tomato soup with breadsticks, a small salad topped with strawberries and grapes, a platter of every meat and cheese probably ever made, noodles under a layer of sauce and other toppings, a delicious-looking red juice, and a huge cake topped with lemons. If District 11 had all this food, we'd never worry about starvation again. My family probably hasn't had this much to eat in their lifetimes, and now a group about the same size will eat it all in just minutes?

It doesn't seem right. What really doesn't seem right is the people who are almost fluttering around the table. These are our servers. They do not speak, and take commands without complaining. I swear I have seen some of them before.

"Why does it seem like I know them from somewhere?" I ask Flora, who has joined us again.

"They're Avoxes. Traitors. The Capitol does something to their tongues so they can't talk. Most likely you've seen them on the news at home. But you wouldn't know them. Surely?" She adds the last word, probably more for herself than me.

No, I don't know any of these "traitors", in their blank white tunics that must be so much like the words they will never be able to say.

I remember one of the news programs, the only things that show up on our broken TVs besides the Hunger Games. Willow and Aspen had been curled up on each side of me on our torn old couch. Some disturbing footage of a young girl was playing. She couldn't have been older than Lilac, maybe eight. The girl had wispy blond hair, and emerald green eyes. Her clothes were torn and dirty, her shoes almost nonexistent. But still she ran from things I couldn't see. A few seconds later, though, a hovercraft appeared above her. The kind only the Capitol would ever have. A weapon of some kind fell from the hovercraft and embedded itself in the girl's arm. Tears ran down her young face, already so battered from the journey that had brought her to wherever she was. Blood ran swiftly down the ugly wound, falling in slow drops to the dirt floor of the forest she stood in.

Aspen and Willow had covered their eyes as soon as the weapon had dropped. Both their eyes shone with teardrops. I wrapped my arms around their shoulders. Aspen's head fell to my lap, eyes still covered. Willow leaned into my side. The girl on TV was still running from the hovercraft. My heart skipped a beat as she tripped on a fallen tree branch and she was sent flying to the ground, looking as lifeless as a tree branch herself. But that didn't fool the people in the hovercraft. It did just the opposite. A net dropped down, entrapping her. The girl screamed, high-pitched, but the sound was cut short by an arrow through the side of her neck. She was not dead, but silent.

The screen went dark. A minute later it had come back to show clips of the surgery that disabled her voice. They were so bloody, so disturbing, that even I had to shut my eyes. When I opened them again, Willow had her eyes fixed on my face. Aspen was not next to me anymore. Had I dozed off? How long?

"It's okay, Willow. I'm just tired." I tried.

"But you were shaking, Rue. You were shaking really hard. And Aspen got scared and left. But I stayed...'cause I wanted to make sure you were okay. I turned the TV off," Willow informed me, her breathing still shallow and rapid. This was one of the longest speeches Willow had ever made at age three.

The scent of fire jolts me from my flashback; a smoke alarm blares. Strong arms wrap around my waist and carry me from the room.

"Just a small kitchen fire. Only this floor. Everyone got out okay, no injuries." I hear Gem report. I find it weird that only a few hours ago, he was painting my nails and now he's reporting the status of a fire.

Fire is one of my worst fears. It destroys everything, wrapping around even the strongest lungs, the largest trees. The things that couldn't be destroyed any other way. Whether you start with everything, or not so much as a coin to your name, you end with nothing. Absolutely nothing to call your own besides yourself, maybe some other survivors. We had a big fire in District 11 about 15 years ago, before I was born. My mother told me about it, how she and my father had barely made it out, how they had to basically start their lives over.

After lunch, Thresh and I are shown a room with lots of plush chairs to sit in. We have two hours before we need to go to our stylists' rooms to change, then to the opening ceremony. Flora and Violet, one of our mentors that we only met today, are to stay with us.

While Violet tries to accomplish the impossible task of getting Thresh to answer a question using words besides "Yeah" and "No", I lean back and press a button that makes a footrest pop out from under the seat. I notice there is a remote with about a hundred different options for the chair. After being pummeled by the built-in massage cushion set on "hard" and getting a burst of lemon air freshener in my face, I find a way to be gently massaged and make a tub of warm water appear to put my lower legs in.

An Avox appears with a glass of water and crackers for each of us. I nod my thanks and sip my water slowly for a while. Then Flora tells us it's time to go to our stylists to see our outfits. When I arrive at Birch's door, I see the most amazing dress ever. It is a bright pink, covered in real gems, and has straps of silky ribbons. The shoes are dyed-pink leather and each have one stone in the middle of a little silk bow. Birch sends me to a tiled room to change. I return to the main room, and when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I actually gasp.

"It's amazing! I can't believe I get to wear this. How did they make this so fast?" I can't help but gush.

"I refuse to respond to all of that," Birch replies.

I nod and watch as he paints almost exact copies of my favorite fruits on my fingernails. Then a small tube of pink glitter is added to my hair and face. Birch says that I shouldn't have much makeup, so just a thin coat of what he tells me is lip gloss is smeared across my mouth. Just like every other part of me, it's pink and shiny.

After I've been dressed up, we go to meet Thresh and Fuchsia at the elevator. Thresh in in a green button-down shirt and dark brown pants. Considering our varying sizes, he really could be a tree; I could be a fruit. Birch leads us out of the building and to the place where we will wait for our chariot to drive us into the city.

The city is lit up in every possible color; bright greens, sunshine yellows, and just about all shades of pink and blue and orange and purple sparkle and glisten before us. They run up the mountains like a wall of color, seeming to never end. And maybe they don't. Maybe they go all the way to the end of the Capitol, right up to where a large amount of water separates them from District 5.

Then comes District 9, and then 12. You can't really go past District 12. There's only the ruins of District 13. The chariot pulls up, a grass-green color pulled by a team of tan-colored horses. The horses have green patches sprayed onto them in thick paint. To represent agriculture. Every district has to make their opening costumes involve that District's job. District 1: luxury items. District 2: weapons. District 3: factories. District 4 does fishing, 5 works on irrigation, and so on through District 12, which is in charge of mining coal.

Thresh and I climb into the chariot, each on a separate side. We don't want to appear to be friends, not when we are going to be trying to kill each other in just a couple days. The chariot is pulled sharply forward as the horses begin their trot to the part of the city where we are being presented. We arrive behind the District 10 tributes, and District 8 has just pulled away into the large ring where we will parade around in circles.

The chariot in front of us is rolling out when Birch balances on the back of ours. "Ready? They are going to love you both. I wouldn't be surprised if we got the most District 11 sponsors yet," he says; anticipation gleams in his turquoise eyes.

Our horses snort and start walking. Thresh sits silently the whole time, but I actually want sponsors, so I grin and wave.

Shouts of "Yay, Rue!" and "Thresh!" and "District 11!" circulate through the ring. I love that they have bothered to look up our names in the brochure. We have just turned a corner when District 12 comes into view. They are in matching black jumpsuits, but the amazing part is they have flaming headpieces and capes. With real flames that illuminate their faces.

Usually, since they mine coal, they'd be in baggy jumpsuits or even naked and covered in 'coal dust'. This year, they've made an impact. The cheers of "District 11!" change to "District 12!". They deserve the attention. Theirs are not just District 12's best costumes ever, but possibly Panem's best yet. But with my fear of fire, I like my costume better. We do one more lap around the ring, then return to the spot where the horses and chariot picked us up.

Birch, Flotia, Gem, Fuchsia, Violet, and Flora wait for us there. By the time we reach the Training Center building, they still haven't finished gushing over us. They go on and on and on, like my time in the orchards during harvest. Birch, who, okay, maybe didn't gush, punches the 11 button in the elevator. I feel my chest drop to my stomach as it rises quickly over the still lit-up city.

District 11 would be fast asleep now, all lights off, and not a sound besides the wind rustling between leaves. The people in the houses would be cozy in shared beds, reflecting heat to each other. I think how my sisters will have one less person to warm and comfort them now. Lilac will take over as oldest, at not even ten years old. A terrible thought hits me then: Lavender will turn three on the same day the Games start; her birthday could be the day of my death. Would she notice the same thing? I'm sure my parents have. Even Lavender must know I will miss her birthday, but will that be the most she knows? I try to figure out if I do or don't want her knowing that I could die on her third birthday.

Really, there's an easy solution—don't die on the first day.

I think of all the birthdays I'll never see; I won't watch Lilac turn ten. I will be gone the day the twins turn five, and six, seven, eight, nine, and older. Will they still think of me on those days, or will they try to avoid the topic? Rosie...I'll never walk with her on her first day in the orchard, make sure she gets up and down the trees all right. My parents will never watch me become a teenager. That would be March 21st, in about 10 months. I promised them never to act "like a teenager", and I guess I never will.

"Rue?" Flora's voice surprises me. I realize she led me out of the elevator, down a long hallway, and to a door with the number 1112 on it. Floor 11, age 12? Or Floor 11, room 12? I have no idea.

"You have two hours to shower, change, rest, whatever you want. Rue? Are you even listening?" Flora asks.

"Sorry. Yes, I was listening. Two hours of freedom before dinner. Got it," I answer.

"Good. See you at dinner." Then she walks off, her high-heeled shoes clicking on the plastic floor.

I explore my room. The closet here is probably as big as my house in District 11. Showering, however, seems impossible because there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of buttons, controls, and switches. Each one creates a different temperature, water pressure, soap, shampoo, oil, or other special feature. That, and the fact that I've never had a shower, only baths, in my life make it seem hopeless.

But after 20 minutes of staring at the panels, I manage to get the water running and keep it at a good temperature. Once I've gone through about a lake's worth of hot water, I find the button that turns the shower off. This room has the softest towels I've ever touched, not that there are extremely soft towels in District 11.

A metallic brush somehow omits the tangles from my hair before it even reaches them. I find a cream that stings badly at first, but leaves my skin with a healthy glow. Flora is at the door hollering in her funny accent that I have twenty-five minutes.

The Capitol accent comes from a language called German. At least, that's what we're told in school. The teachers say that most of it has died down, but what does remain is why they sound so weird to us. We're also told that German people usually had blonde hair and blue eyes, but it would be impossible to tell, thanks to all the makeovers done here.

I cross to the closet soaking wet, leaving the carpet soggy and smelling of lavender oil. Lavender.

The closets turn out to be as complicated as the shower, but I struggle with it long enough to find an outfit I like. It's a cream-colored knit jacket over a white tank top and black leggings. Still wiggling into silver sandals, I go to the dining room.

**As for the thing with German, that's not meant to offend anyone. I'm half-German, so I know the accent and everything. And it sometimes does sound like what Katniss described. Voices going up at the end of sentences, clipped vowels, and lots of "S" sounds.**

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	6. Chapter 6

**Yes! I figured out how to make this post. Ha. Ha. Ha. Okay, all done.**

**Disclaimer: Do I own The Hunger Games?**

**Thresh: No.**

Chapter 6: Luxuries

The dinner prepared for me is, if possible, even larger than my other meals today.

Avoxes flit around the table, offering everyone but me wine. I get what they call sparkling apple juice. They do not trust a child with much, especially alcohol. I don't blame them. Who hasn't seen what it can do to even adults? They stumble around blindly, moaning and mumbling to themselves. No, I would not accept wine even if it was given to me.

I also notice that when Thresh isn't looking, Flora slips some water into his wine glass. She winks at me, then goes back to some conversation involving feathers on a dress she wants. These people are so self-centered.

I turn back to the endless amount of food. Prepared for us is turkey leg, enough for at least five for each of us, mashed potatoes with melted butter and cheese, a salad with bits of ham and crackers in it, a green soup I don't recognize but love the taste of, little rolls of fancy bread wrapped around sausages, and a long platter of fruits and vegetables. I eat until I can't hold any more, and then keep going.

About 20 minutes later, I am literally about to explode. I've never eaten as much or as rich of food as this. Thresh seems to be having the same problem; his face is a pale shade of green. Still, I manage to eat some of the large slice of apple pie that is served in bowls about the same size as my head.

"Okay, very, very big important day tomorrow! Training starts, then after that, the interviews, then the biggest of all...the Games!" Flotia trills, while the rest of the adults nod in approval. Thresh looks bored, and I try to keep a regular expression on my face. This is a skill I've decided to work on since I watched the other Reapings.

"Great, how long can we sleep in?" I finally ask, because I realize they're waiting for a response.

"Oh, seven maybe. If you promise to cooperate about getting dressed," Birch tells me.

"You should wake me up at six, then," I say smugly. There is no way I'll cooperate that early. That was the best thing about the orchards and schools in District 11: they didn't open until ten, so we got to sleep in.

"I'll remember that," he promises, and leaves the table without another word.

It takes me about ten seconds to fall asleep that night. I change into a light purple nightdress and crawl beneath thick warm sheets. The mattress of my large bed is so soft that I actually sink partly into it. Next to that is a clock that plays different sounds to fall asleep or relax to.

We have nothing like this at home. It's not fair, having the districts so poor, and the Capitol with all their inventions. The Capitol, who stuff themselves at every meal, and when it starts to show, simply get a surgery to undo it and do the whole thing over again. If District 11 had that much food, it would take months to reverse the way our ribs protrude from our chests, to make our legs strong enough to really run.

I can run fast. Sprinting is what I was built for. Some kids can beat me in long-distance races at school, but anything under a mile or so is something I will win and the others know it. There is a lot of strength in my arms from working in the orchards all day. Hopefully, that will be enough to keep me alive the first day of the Hunger Games. Lavender's birthday.

Soon, I find the perfect sound on the alarm clock. It is leaves rustling in the wind. The sound is so natural, so familiar, that tears spring to my eyes. Then the whistles that only mockingjays can make plays, in perfect time with the rustling leaves, and I fall asleep with a trace of a smile on my face. The mockingjays seem to sing my name.

Rue...Rue...Rue...

When I wake up, the mockingjays still chirp my name. But now it sounds oddly human. It takes a minute to notice that Flora is calling my name from the door.

"Hmm?" I manage, still half-asleep.

"I'm coming in, okay?" Flora says. The door opens and I lay back down. The clock reads 5:37. Didn't I ask to be awoken no sooner than six?

"I know you're tired, but you have training today," she reminds me.

"Mmm...okay," I'm too tired to say much else.

"Just meet us for breakfast when you're dressed, okay Rue? Because no one wants an overtired tribute at training. No one will see how great you are. Hide your best skill. Try a weapon, tie some knot, shoot a bow, lift weights. But no 'flying' ," Flora puts finger quotes around the last word.

I know what she means. I won't reveal my best skill until the private sessions. Then I will get a score based on how good I am.

"Mm-Hmm," I nod.

I put on a purple tank top and brown shorts. Some white tennis shoes, and I pull my hair into a ponytail. The closet could be programmed to my taste only, but I don't have the knowledge needed to make that happen.

Before I go, I start writing a letter to my family. To really say goodbye. A stack of blank paper sits on a table, so I grab it and a pen next to it and start writing. I have never used anything besides lead wrapped in tree bark as a pencil. I only know what a pen is because in school, we once had a lesson with ink pens.

Dear Mom, Dad, Lilac, Rosie, Aspen, Willow, and Lavender,

Possibly by the time you read this I will be gone.

Your lives will go on. My only wish is to be buried in the meadow.

Lilac, you're the oldest now. Help take care of the others and walk Rosie to the orchards when harvest comes. Be strong and brave. Just do your best. You'll do great.

Rosie, I know this will be hardest for you. Lilac has dealt with death before; you are the only one old enough to understand it. Please tell Aspen and Willow everything. About the Games, the tributes, and the Capitol. Everything you know. Promise me never to sign up for tessera. Only if it's absolutely necessary. You can do it.

Aspen, never forget the evil behind the Hunger Games. Remember me, and how they sacrificed me, and Never forgive them. Stay innocent and beautiful, and don't let anyone tell you you're not. Try your best not to watch the deaths in the Games. Especially mine.

Willow, always be yourself: sweet and caring and amazing. You're just a young girl now, but I know you'll grow to be great. Things will change, but keep fighting. Make them happen your way.

Lavender, even though you're just a toddler, make sure Mother reads this to you. Look back at this letter and think of me. When you do understand the Hunger Games, don't worry. Nothing will happen to you; it already happened to me. The Games won't make sense to you for a while, and my absence will confuse you. Just listen to what Lilac or Rosie or Mother or Father tell you.

Mother, Father, I'm sorry that I won't see you again. But something had to happen to one of us, and I'm glad it's me. I knew it would be me, the oldest and the one with the most tessera entries in my age group. Don't take that as your fault. I love all the little ones so much. That's why it had to be me, not them.

Goodbye, everyone. I love you all.

Love,

Rue.

I'm practically sobbing as I finish my letter. All the emotion I had been storing flowed out of me. Staring at the ceiling, I realize I have to go to breakfast for training now.

I wipe my eyes and try to regain an indifferent face as I make my way down to the dining room.

On the bright side, breakfast is delicious.

We have little sausages covered in maple syrup, a sweet, warm drink called hot chocolate, little seed-sprinkled rolls of bread just like the ones from home, strawberries, flat round discs they tell me are pancakes, and scrambled eggs.

"So, Rue and Thresh. In training, no limits. Show off your strengths, don't go near stations where you are weak. Try to improve mediocre skills, and save your absolute best ability for private sessions. Stay together enough that possible sponsors will see you as a team, far enough apart that neither seems clingy." Violet explains.

She would know, how to gain sponsors. Violet won the 62nd Games because of an unreasonable amount of sponsors who literally fought each other to buy her certain things. I have no idea how she managed to be that popular, but she did.

I'm sent to Flora and Gem's prep room so they can fix my hair and add any finishing touches. In only a few minutes, my hair is in elaborate braids on either side of my head, and a fresh coat of lip gloss has been applied.

Flora leads Thresh and I to the elevator, then hits a button marked 'TC' for training center.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Here's Chapter Seven! Yippee! **

**Disclaimer: Me no own Hunger Games. Verdad? (That's Spanish)**

Chapter 7: Training

We enter a large, sandy area, with various stations lining the edges. In the middle is a sloppily painted blue circle. Thresh grabs my arm and half-drags me to the left end of it. A woman whose entire body is dyed a sickly shade of magenta stands on a wooden box just in front of the circle. Only the Careers, the tributes from 1, 2, and 4, are already sitting in the circle.

I sit down, and only now realize just how tiny I am. Compared to my sisters, I'm the biggest. Poppy is really the only other child I was close to, both physically and emotionally.

A large clock on the large wall surrounding the area reads 9:45. In 15 minutes, all the tributes will be here, the lady will bore us to tears with a speech, and we will go train.

All the tributes except District 12 are here. A man come around and pins a bit of cloth with each tribute's district number to their shirt. When he reaches me, he's already pinned twenty numbers to shirts, so he's less careful. The needle on the end not only pierces my shirt, but causes a sharp pain in my right shoulder. I reach to the spot where it hit me, and when I look at my finger, it has a small drop of blood on it. Compared to the amount of blood I'll be seeing and losing over the next few days, this is nothing, so I can't let it get to me.

All of these tributes probably have at least a hundred pound on me. Possibly more, since at 12, I weigh about 60 pounds. The largest tribute, the boy from District 2, is easily 250 pounds. Four times my weight.

District 12 finally gets here, and the pink-skinned woman, whose name is, surprisingly, Magenta, begins talking.

"Okay, let's get started. Um, no fighting with other tributes. There will be experts there at each station if you want to practice. You'll come inside for lunch, and the training lasts three days. So, go practice!" She finishes by punching a fist into the air.

Everyone scatters to different stations. I have no idea where to go, so I play with a slingshot for a while. This takes almost no effort, so I have time to think to myself.

I need to stay busy until lunch; when the Careers go in for lunch, I can spend a few minutes with some real weapons before I'm told to go inside and eat. I could go try some weapons now, but the risk of being not-so-accidentally speared keeps me from it.

Far away, I can see many trees. Just out of a walking distance, or I'd ask to go see them. Aspens and willows, my favorite trees. It's not hard to guess why.

I'd taught Aspen and Willow to climb the smaller trees outside the orchard before they'd turned three. Each girl had picked one apple, and happily eaten it on the way home.

"What else can we pick? Is there more?" They'd asked eagerly. I'd promised that in the fall of when they turned seven, both would see and collect the many fruits of the orchards. Three more years needed to pass before that came. Three years that I would not get to live.

Only then do I realize that all the other tributes are gone. They are having lunch, so now is my time to test some real, pain-inflicting weapons. I briefly attempt throwing a spear, but it's longer and probably heavier than me, so I sigh and go to eat.

The lunchroom here is not like the ones we had in the schools at home. There, everyone belonged to a group of friends. Here, however, no one knows each other. The Careers and District 12 are the only groups not sitting alone. I find a table in a corner and sit at the edge of it to watch everything that goes on here.

At one point, Thresh ends up talking to the Career group. The girl from District 1 asks him something. Thresh shakes his head. They all look disappointed, but they leave him alone after that. Were they asking him to be part of the Career pack? Sometimes, if one tribute seems really good at something that they have no strength in, the Careers will take in someone from another district.

The next day, I decide to kind of slip up and meet District 12 at random stations. Either the boy, Peeta, is very observant or I am not good at secretively following them, because Peeta whispers,

"I think we have a shadow." Katniss, the girl from 12, looks around at me. Her face relaxes when she realizes it's me following them, and not another tribute. After seeing her with that spear, though, I don't want to get her angry.

"I think her name's Rue," Peeta tells Katniss. Well, he thought correctly.

More carefully now, I join them every now and then.

Katniss is a lot like me. She has great aim, climbs well, and breezes through the edible plants test.

The next day is lot like that, me meeting up with them every now and then. After that, it's time to show the Gamemakers our special talents. No one else will know what I show them unless I decide to tell.

We are herded into the room where we ate lunch. All 24 tributes have a chair, and when they leave to go to their private sessions, they don't return. Why would they want to come back and watch us sit here? I wait somewhat patiently for the 21 tributes before me to perform. The sessions go in order of district, boy then girl. District 10's girl tribute has just left the room when I start to feel very nervous. My knees bounce up and down with anxiety.

Thresh is called, and I begin to shake. But I put on a brave face for the cameras anyway.

A male voice calls, "District 11, Rue Vera!" I stand up slowly, glad that none of the other tributes besides District 12 can see me. My steps now are similar to the ones I took on the way to the stage at the Reaping. Now I demonstrate what Flora calls flying.

My feet barely touch the ground as I leap from obstacle to obstacle soundlessly. I've perfected this skill in the orchards. I need to be able to move quickly to reach more distant fruits, and do it silently so as not to disturb the people working below me.

The Gamemakers that _are_ watching, instead of slurring some sort of song, look interested enough. I take that to mean I'll get about a five on a 1 to 12 scale. The Careers usually get between eight and ten; those are the highest scores I've ever seen awarded. Luckily, only the high scores are remembered. The low and medium ones only matter to the district they are given to.

I feel bad for District 12; by the time they are up, the Gamemakers will be too bored to pay any attention.

I push the 11 button in the elevator of the Training Center building. Mirrors line its walls. The girl staring back at me from them looks tired, but well-fed and has a rare, healthy glow radiating off her skin.

_That girl is me. I'm in the Capitol, ready to go fight to my death, but I'm happy now. I wish I'd had the sense to be glad here before. Now I only have a few days…. _I think ruefully. That is one of my favorite words, since it contains my name. When I was younger, people made jokes about how they'd "rue" the day they met me.

Now I have the rest of the afternoon and all of tomorrow to rest and eat before my interview. Interviews are our chance to nab sponsors in the arena. They will pay otherworldly amounts of money just for the pride of picking a winner. The money pays for food, medicine, or anything else the tributes need.

I return to my room, telling everyone who knocks on my door to go away, and they do. Right now, I want to be alone. I pick up the pen I used to write my letter on the first training day and sketch designs on my arms and legs. Just like the people here do, but theirs are permanent.

These designs will wash off when I take my shower. I draw a long line of flowers on my leg, winding them up and around my knee, them back down. The other leg I cover in my family's names. Rue, Lilac, Rosie, Aspen, Willow, Lavender, Jasmine (my mother), and Solran (my father).

My father is the only one in my family not named after a flower or plant. This is partly because he is the only man, and partly because his family were some of the richer people, who named their children differently. His parents being richer meant they had that District 11 city look about them. Pale brown hair, green eyes, and tan skin. This explains why my dad, Willow and Aspen have much lighter hair than the rest of us, and more hazel in their eyes.

When I finish drawing swirling patterns on my arms, I turn on the shower, a great improvement over the first day. I invent a game of pressing random buttons, just to see what will happen. After a stream of vanilla suds targets my eye, though, I stop. Turning around and walking to the sink, I let cold water run over my eye until the stinging goes away.

At dinner, I decide to be social again. Violet asks how Thresh and I think we did in our private sessions. Neither of us has a clue. She asks if we want to find out, so we nod and let her lead us to a room with a large TV screen in the middle of it. The program on is the televised training scores. A picture of each tribute shows up, then a number from one to twelve.

My name and picture are shown, and I can't help but realize how young my picture looks. I don't remember posing for this picture, or wearing that shirt recently. Flora tells me that they have pictures from many events, and choose one to represent us. The shot on the screen is from about a month ago, when they filmed us in the orchards.

But other tributes had pictures of them in clothes I've seen them wear. I remember the first day being here, when I slept in very late. Maybe they had a photo shoot then.

Now the number seven is flashing on the screen. I got a seven in training! So they were paying attention. I know a seven isn't much, but I was expecting a five, so I'm happy. Thresh gets a nine, and Katniss from District 12 got an eleven! That is the highest score ever given. What did she do to get that high of a score?

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	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight is here! Yippe-kay-yay! Actually the whole thing is done, I just need to bother posting it. :p**

**Disclaimer shall be done by…oh, Prim.**

**Prim: This person does not own me, my family, or anybody in my country or the plot my sister is in, other than anything you don't recognize from my series. Thanks!**

Chapter 8: Coaching

I awake to the chirping of mockingjays again. My eyes flutter open, expecting to see Lilac sitting up next to me. Surely I'm home. All the Hunger Games were is a dream. But something feels wrong. I do not feel Aspen's sleeping body pressed into my side. Where is she? I bolt up.

"Aspen?" But there is no reply. Tears threaten to spill over when I remember I am still in the Capitol, going into the Hunger Games, and will never see my family again.

Flora is pounding on my door.

"Rue? Rue, wake up! Don't make me come in there! Come on, you have interview training today. Rue!"

"Calm down, I'm awake," I tell her. Before I can finish, a clicking noise lets me know she has opened my door.

A dress is in her hands, not mine for tonight, but an emerald green one that come down to my ankles and black high heels that add about four inches to my height of four-foot-nine.

Flora makes me walk and smile and "use manners for a change". After an hour of this, I have the worst blisters and swollen ankles from falling sideways in my shoes. So I collapse on my bed and kick my shoes across the room.

Flora is clasping both hands to her mouth, looking like she's seen someone killed. Which, I remember, she does 23 times a year or more.

"You can't take off your shoes!" She screeches.

"Why? They hurt!" I whine, sounding like Aspen when she's in danger of a fit.

"Just don't, Rue," Flora sighs. So we work on smiling and waving for a few minutes. I hope the next half of the day won't be so horrible.

Full of pinching shoes and long dresses, the rest of the four hours are as bad as I imagine the Games will be.

Now, my favorite part of the day: lunch.

We get a salad with a white dressing, thin strips of meat called bacon, and large bread rolls topped with melted cheese. I rush through the meal, then stuff myself with the biggest cookie I've ever seen.

"Do you have an angle chosen for interviews, Thresh?" Violet asks. So that's what I'll be doing the rest of the day.

Thresh nods. There is no chance that he'll elaborate, so the topic is dropped. Then Violet turns to me.

"Did you practice walking and smiling?"

"Yes, but now I'm ready to move on," I say coldly, glaring at Flora. She blushes and looks away.

The rest of the afternoon is spent with Violet and Birch. We work on my approach for interviews.

Very few ideas will work for me. I'm young, small, usually outgoing, and used to being oldest, not the absolute youngest. I'm the smallest by a lot.

I wish I could see Lilac's smiling face, hold Lavender's squirming body while my mother runs a brush through her dark brown curls. I hear Willow's girly voice in my head.

"Rue, tell me a story."

I know exactly which story I'd tell her now. It was when she'd figured out what it meant to be a twin.

"Why does Aspen look so much like me? No one else looks exactly like each other. I guess I'm only important enough to be a a separate person," she said sadly.

"No, Willow, it means you're more special. That there wasn't enough of you or Aspen, so you were doubled," I'd explained reassuringly. I hated to see her so miserable.

"Really? So why don't you have a double? I'd love to have another Rue."

Curiosity lit up her small face. I'd had to go on, saying that if everyone was a twin, there would be too many people, and not enough to eat.

From then on, Willow always felt special. Like she was unstoppable, and she was. My sisters learned to fight for what they wanted. That was part of the reason they had new boots every two years, because they worked odd jobs for neighbors and their teachers, and made sure to sell the old boots for a good price.

"Okay, Rue," Birch says, "you're too young for sexy, too innocent for fierce, too small to be hostile. Where do you want to go with this? Shy? Girly? Curious?"

"What about defensive? Like, I know I'm small, but I want to win. That I won't give up," I suggest. Even though I have already given up. There is no way I will win. I just need to live past the first day.

"Perfect," Birch tells me, smiling. Then Violet helps me into my fake interview dress. Not the real one; I can't see that until tomorrow. This dress is pale pink, with matching shoes.

Then we practice, Violet and Birch asking me questions like the ones Caesar Flickerman might ask tomorrow. Things about my family and my plans for the Games.

I refuse to answer honestly. When he asks if I have siblings, I say no.

"But you and I both know that's not true. You have five sisters who you love very much. Say that," Violet urges.

"No. They already have my future, they can't take my past too! I don't want them knowing about my sisters. Then, they can't be harmed," I retort angrily.

Birch has seen me act like this too many times now, so he sits back and waits for me to calm down. Violet is about to come over to me, but sees Birch's example and sits down too.

Eventually, I quit fuming and we are called to dinner. I'm so tired that I barely notice the food I'm shoveling into my mouth. I think it's lamb stew, but I'm not sure.

_Thresh stands over me with a sword. He looks apologetic, but not enough to be wavered. My tears and pleas do not affect him. Gritting his teeth, Thresh lowers the sword. He looks resigned; has he given up on killing me? But here I am, laying helplessly at his mercy. How could he not kill me? It would mean he was one step closer to going home, seeing his family. _

_ I have just finished pondering this when there is a final glint of silver, and the sword hits its target._

I sit up, covered in a cold sweat. My breathing shallow, I stand up and drink a glass of water. Just a dream, just a dream…I tell myself harshly.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Yep. I think the thingy is pretty self-explanatory. This is therefore Chaper 9. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If you've read this far, you should know what this says**

Chapter 9: Interviews

Today I have interviews. My chance to get people to sponsor me.

This morning, I get to wear shorts, a cotton shirt, and walk around in just socks. It feels good to be rid of those pointy tight shoes. Mostly, I lay in bed as an Avox-I think the same one I saw on TV- anyways an Avox with blonde hair brings me hot chocolate, pancakes with maple syrup, and a croissant. Everyone here seems to know how much I love those now.

I sit there, peeling the golden-brown outside of the croissant off, then eating the soft white middle. I think how much my sisters would love to taste one. Maybe I'll ask Birch to make me a deal: I die, and each girl gets a croissant and a mug of hot chocolate. My parents would get a cup of coffee and some pancakes with sausage. To me, it seems fair, but I'll need to confirm this with someone.

If I don't die, they will still get the delicious food, because I'll have enough money to buy it and more. Lavender could have any toy she wanted, Aspen would get at least one new dress in any color she wanted, Willow would get the boots she'd been eyeing. Rosie could have a perfectly sized orchard outfit made, and Lilac would get the puppy she always talked about from the pet store.

I know I won't win. Some of the youngest victors ever were 14, and they were special: really strong or fast or _something. _

When Birch knocks on my door to call me for lunch, I can't help asking.

"Birch, if I die, which... I probably will, can you promise that my sisters will each get a mug of hot chocolate and a croissant? And that my parents get a cup of coffee?"

A tear glistens in his eye.

"Of course. I'll make sure of it. That's the least we can promise them. Anything else?"

"Well, yes, but it's asking too much…"

"Nothing is asking too much compared to the life of a child," Birch says solemnly. I've never seen him like this.

"My sisters will tell you anything they need when you bring them the food," I reply.

Birch nods, then leads me from my room to the dining room. Lunch is merely sandwiches with almost everything on them. Tomatoes, lettuce, mayonnaise, turkey, cheese...it's amazing.

When we finish eating, I'm led to Birch's 'styling room'. My interview dress is amazing. I'm wearing a gauzy dress- pure white and flimsy. The part I love most is the set of wings on the back. They are light, and seem to flutter with every step. The wings are outlined in a thin wire, and the fabric has the same texture I imagine fairy wings would have. It was so fun to believe in fairies.

The skirt of the dress is thick silk underneath, but what Birch calls gossamer is draped in loose layers around it.

"You look great," Birch says. Mainly, it's the dress that looks great, I'm just the one who gets to wear it.

I think of Rosie and Aspen, who love to play dress-up in my old clothes, and how much they would love this dress. A disturbing thought hits me. _It's the last dress you'll ever wear. _

A few minutes later, I'm ready to be interviewed. Usually, I'd get so many layers of makeup that no one would know who I was. I'm only twelve, so Birch empties the third bottle of glitter since I arrived onto my head, puts sparkly pink lip gloss on, and applies a thick black mixture called mascara onto my eyelashes.

It's weird that, not too long ago, I had no idea what any of this was. Flotia hands me the silver shoes from a few mights ago, and I slip them on as she scurries off.

"Ready?" Birch asks me. This reminds me so much of what my father said every day before school or work. But my father said it playfully; Birch uses the word in a tone that even I know means "This afternoon means the difference between life and death".

I nod. "Ready," I confirm confidently.

I sit in a hard plastic chair half an hour later. My legs are almost numb; my hand is asleep. Probably never, not one day in my life, have I moved around this little. Working in the orchards and long walks to school every day have made me need movement. Right now, I'm suffering hyperactive disorders.

Each tribute gets a three minute interview. I will be the twenty-first tribute. Which means I've been sitting in this hard chair for more than an hour because the introductions and good-byes of every interview take a while. In school, we can stand up to use the bathroom or just because we need to; every hour there is a break where we can run or walk two laps around the school. Working in the orchards is obviously exercise.

Birch has warned me that if I stand up and walk around without being excused, I will be punished. Anyone else would be whipped or killed, but that will happen in a little while anyway.

Finally, a voice calls my name. I stand up and flutter in my dress up to where Caesar Flickerman waits. He is in the twinkling midnight blue suit that he wears every year, but his hair, lips, and eyelids are light blue instead of scarlet. Unlike his suit, that color is changed every year. A hush falls over the crowd. Is this because of me? A shout of "Rue!" answers that. They are reacting this way for me, the tiny tribute in this amazing dress.

Caesar is using a much gentler tone with me than he used when talking to the other tributes.

"Rue, do you have any siblings?" The question I'd oped he wouldn't ask hangs teasingly in the air. But I have to answer.

"Yes. I have five younger sisters," I say in a strangled tone. Caesar moves on, and I'm happy to answer him after this.

"A seven in training. A great score for one so small. Well above average. So, Rue, what's your best chance of survival in the Games?"

"I'm very hard to catch," I begin bravely. "And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out." Even though I've already counted myself out. Hearing the other interviews makes me hope I can just die in my sleep tonight. Because the Hunger Games are tomorrow.

"I wouldn't in a million years," Caesar says.

Then the buzzer announcing the end of three minutes. I say goodbye, and return to my seat. Thresh has just entered the room where he will be interviewed. He answers every question with "Yes," or "No," or he is silent.

I tune out the rest of his interview, wondering what my family thought of my three televised minutes. Were they glad, that I was acting so brave? Or were they having the same thoughts as me, knowing I had given up? Then I try to remember everyone's angles from today. The girl from District 1 went for sexy. The boy, Marvel, played a slightly arrogant but charming role. Both of the District 2 tributes are made to kill and fight. The girl from 3 is shy. I've remembered everyone, even Thresh's hostile attitude. Thresh's buzzer has just sounded; Katniss is on her way to the stage.

She looks a lot like the older sister I've only seen in dreams. Olive skin, dark hair, and gray eyes balance out her short, skinny frame. The biggest difference between Katniss and the older sister in my imagination is the fact that I don't know Katniss. I would offer an alliance, but that could get me a spear through the chest if I did anything wrong. No, I doubt that, I'm the same age as her sister, and if I noticed our similarities, then most likely she did too. Maybe I will try to make an alliance tomorrow. Or at least some time in the next week.

Katniss is apparently not playing an angle for her interview. She twirls in her dress, making it seem like she's engulfed in flames. This is because the jewels on the skirt of her dress move in every direction. Then she giggles, and looks shocked at herself for it. Does she never laugh? In the final minute, she gets serious and talks about Primrose, the girl she volunteered for.

"Her name is Prim…" Katniss says.

Then the District 12 boy, Peeta, is up. He makes some jokes and does some hilarious skits with Caesar.

"Tell me, do I smell like roses?" He asks after describing the dangers of the fancy showers here. This I can relate to. What comes next is something I can't relate to at all.

"So, Peeta, do you have a girlfriend back home?"

Peeta blushes and says no, but Caesar presses on and on until Peeta gives in. By now, Caesar has managed to get him to admit he has a crush on someone. Then, when Peeta confesses that winning the Games won't help "in his case", I put two and two together. Why would winning not help? Because she's going to be dead if he does.

My guess is confirmed when Peeta stammers,

"Because….because...she came here with me."


	10. Chapter 10

**I plan to have the whole story posted by the end of 2011! So, that's one every couple days. 18 chapters, then an epilogue. Yep.**

Chapter 10: The Gong

I am surprised; but honestly District 12's business isn't mine. However, I let my mind wander out of need for something to do. Katniss regarded Peeta almost coldly in the reaping. That makes one more person who will be damaged beyond repair if Katniss dies. Surely her mother, sister, probably the boy who pulled her sister off her at the Reaping. Now Peeta can be added to that list.

Dinner that night is hard to get down. A thick lamb stew, warm bread rolls, oranges, and ham and cheese between toasted bread. I think of how the Hunger Games start tomorrow, and I try to erase that thought from my mind.

As I lay in bed, I wonder what the arena will look like. Is it possible that it can be in this building? With soft, warm beds and luxurious food. A nasty idea presents itself.

_Enjoy it, Rue. After tonight, you will never fall asleep knowing that you'll live until morning. You won't be guaranteed food at every meal and water when your mouth is just a little dry. Say good-bye to warm sheets and a change of clothes each day. You won't have human contact in the arena, besides the person to deliver your deathblow. _

I cry myself to sleep that night. The mockingjays awake me again, and the only trace of a good thing in the Games will be that if there are mockingjays, their noises will be real.

I have been roughly shaken awake by an unforgiving (at least she's unforgiving to my recommended hours of sleep) Flora who reminds me that it's the day of the Hunger Games. Which means it's also Lavender's third birthday. As Flora helps me dress in a pale green shirt and tan cargo pants, I hum the special District 11 birthday song. Then I'm given leather boots with very good tread, a thick brown belt, and a loose black jacket that hangs to my thighs. It's not that thick, though, so I'm prepared for mildly cold nights. Unless the Gamemakers want us to freeze. I finger my district token as Flora braids my hair. It's a woven grass necklace with a wooden star I carved myself. I hope it will be a good luck charm.

Violet comes in and ushers Flora out of the room. She sits on the edge of the bed.

"Okay, I just talked to Thresh. We decided that we don't want you two to have an alliance because Thresh is seen as a threat, and we don't want you hunted down with him. Actually, don't make any alliances unless you know you can trust the person very well. Your first task is to grab what's at your feet by the Cornucopia, but don't get involved in the bloodbath at all. Then find food and water. You can go longer without food, so look for a water source." She says all this with barely a breath between sentences. I nod.

"Got it. No alliances unless I can trust them, find water, no bloodbath, get food," I reel off to show I listened. Violet gives me a thumbs-up and leaves.

I am not hungry at breakfast, but I want to have energy when the gong sounds and I have to run fast and long. I notice the croissants that have been laid out just for me and grab two. I rip off bits of one and dunk them in the hot chocolate mug in front of me. A sweet red juice is gone in seconds.

Birch leads us to the same room where we waited for the opening ceremony outfits to arrive. I recline in the soft chair and stretch out. I allow myself no additional features at first, because I don't want to get used to them. But the curiosity takes over, and I'll only get to play with the chairs now; even if I win, I won't have access to them.

I wish Rosie could be here now. Not in the Games, but in the comfortable chair next to mine, because she was the perfect age to really appreciate things like this. I think back to when she'd gotten to use a large plush chair in the Justice Building, after I'd had a bad case of flu and they'd thought I was dying. That hadn't happened, obviously, but anyway Rosie had been sent to the Justice Building to retrieve our free ration of medicine.

"Oh, Rue, it was so pretty, and the chairs were so soft and fancy. I wish we had those here! The room I was in had to be bigger than our whole house," a five-year-old Rosie had exclaimed.

"The best part was the candy they gave me. It was pink and sweet, and had white stripes," Rosie said, referring to the peppermint she'd been given for picking up the medicine. I'd smiled and promised that I'd try to get her another. Which I did, about a month later.

A voice seemingly coming from the ceiling announces that it is time for all tributes to go to the Launch Room. In our district, it's called the slaughterhouse, because it's the last place we go before dying. Flora stands stiffly and grabs both Thresh's arm and my hand in one movement. Birch rises slowly, followed by Fuchsia, Flotia, and Gem.

We walk almost lethargically to the elevator, but before we get there a woman with a white coat stops us. She holds up two needles, one for each of us. I fight the urge to run away as fast as I can, because I need to look stronger and older than I am. The woman inserts a cold metal tracker into my arm so the cameras will know where to find and film me. "Ow!" I mutter when I accidentally press on it.

Thresh shoots me an apologetic look, but says nothing. We get to enter the elevator and arrive on the right floor a few seconds later. Flotia hands me a glass of water, which I sip gladly, though I have no idea where she conjured this up from.

I'm shaking so hard I might fall over, but the natural look of the mountains calms me. Unlike everything else here, they have not been dyed or surgically altered. I wish we had mountains like these in District 11; we'd never take them for granted. Possibly they could have taught us more about edible plants.

A man in a bright green suit leads us into a hovercraft, and I start to feel sick right away. I've never experienced anything like this before. It gives me a faint idea of how mockingjays think when they fly. Except that I can't feel the freezing wind. I content myself with looking out the window...until it closes. _Why? I'm not going to make it in here much longer,_ I think.

My question is answered quickly by an electronic voice that says,

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are closing the windows due to the fact that we are nearing the arena. Please stay seated at all times until the hovercraft has landed. Thank you!"

I make a face. The monotone makes me wish I could sleep, but a screen protruding from the ceiling of the hovercraft tells me there are 20 minutes left of the flight. I do not know where the others are; we are each in our own blocked-off section.

We stand in a white room a few minutes later. Birch tells me good-bye and what a pleasure it was to design for me. Violet nods, and says good luck.

"Bye, Rue!" My prep team choruses. Even Flora waves at me and turns to hide a very sad face. But there are no tears; she has been doing this long enough to be immune to that. I must have made an impression.

I'm led, more like dragged, really, to a plastic cylinder with a metal floor. A soft sound seals the tube and I'm trapped. I wave to everyone as my metal circle rises up towards sunlight.

Claudius Templesmith, the announcer, yells,

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

I'm in a sandy area, surrounded by the other tributes. They look so intimidating. To one side is a forest, to the other a lake, and about 40 yards away is the Cornucopia.

We have sixty seconds to stand here and survey the arena. Around our circles are land mines, so if a tribute steps off, or even drops something, their remains literally have to be scraped off the ground. That's a good reason to stay right here. Another would be no Games, but that's unavoidable. I won't have to fight or run until the gong.

I need to run to the Cornucopia, grab what's at my feet, and head for the woods. The Cornucopia is a giant golden horn is filled with food, water, medicine, tents, and other lifesaving supplies. If I were bigger, stronger, and older, I would go to the fight and grab some decent items.

The Careers will stay here and make sure they get most of the supplies. Anyone caught stealing something will die a violent, painful death. The tributes from 1, 2, and 4 have trained to be ruthless killers and cause slow suffering that leaves others begging to just get it over with. I hope I won't die like that.

With any luck, they won't bother with me for a while. I'm no threat, and killing me would only increase their chances if I was the only other tributes. I want to just grab whatever is at my feet without a spear lodged in my brain.

"Wish me luck, everyone," I whisper to myself. By this, I mean my parents and sisters. I know they are watching now, that they have their fingers crossed.

Then the gong sounds, and I take off.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Woot woo! Finally at the Games! Yes, yes, it took me long enough. I like this chapter more than some others, but still, remember that a 12-year-old wrote this. And even now I'm only 13.**

**And thank youthankyouthankyouthankyou to everyone who reviewed! You literally make my day!**

Chapter 11: The Games

Just at the Cornucopia, there's a small backpack. It's light, so it can't hold much, but it's better than nothing. I snatch it and notice that bodies already lay on the ground, dead.

The girl from District 2 has gathered a large collection of knives. She arranges them in her jacket like I imagine a scientist might keep chemicals. One knife is carefully selected, and her eyes lock on my body. Now I turn and scramble for the woods.

I reach the edge of the trees in another minute, but I keep running to make sure I'm far away from them. I recognize a lot of these trees and plants from home, and could tell a story about each one.

_Rosie learned how to climb in that kind of tree. Those berries kept us alive for two weeks. This leaf can heal infected cuts. Lavender loves that root. Willow loves to play with the bark from that tree,_ I tell myself.

My mouth is not only dry, but beginning to feel waxy. My lips give off a sticky substance, and if I try to breathe through my mouth, I can't swallow. I remind myself that I'm actually running for my life. When I think I'm about four miles into the forest, I pause and sit in a willow tree. It makes me happy and sad to think of her. Happy because I love her, and sad because I miss her. I think about opening my pack, but I have to keep going.

After ten minutes in the tree and two more hours of running, I find a tall tree with many thick branches. About forty feet up, there's a fork that would make a perfect seat.

Concentrating on the branches, I clamber up the tree and reach the spot I saw from below. Now I open the backpack. It contains a water skin, a pair of extra socks, and a juicy red apple. I don't dare eat it yet, though. I just need water to fill the skin. What I got isn't much, but it's better than where I started.

I secure the pack to a branch where no one would see it even if they looked. Then I go search for food and water. I almost light up when I recognize the moonbeam berries Rosie loves so much. I gather as many as I can in one hand, then fill the other and dump them into the pack. A flat piece of bark sits a few feet away, so I grab it and make a barrier so the berries won't get crushed by anything else. I dig up some edible roots and place them with the berries.

This food will last a day or two, depending on how much I eat. The final item I put in the backpack is a handful of leaves that will heal tracker jacker stings. At least, they draw the infection out.

Tracker jackers are from the rebellion, like jabberjays. They were cleared from the Capitol, but left in the districts. Jabberjays could mimic any word or song that they heard in a perfect imitation of even a human voice. If a little kid screamed, the birds could mime it accurately, so much that even the child looked shocked. During the rebellion, they were used to feed the Capitol any words they picked up while visiting districts.

When the rebels discovered this, they made sure the Capitol heard every lie they told. This made the Capitol so angry that they left their own creations to die in the wild. Since the jabberjays were specially male, they couldn't carry on. Somehow, though, they found a way to mate with female mockingbirds and created mockingjays.

Tracker jackers are nothing like their cousins, the kind of wasp that leaves everyone alone unless they annoy it. No, tracker jackers track and sting anyone they see. Like jabberjays, they were created in labs in the Capitol. I'm sure that these are what I heard with Rosie on Reaping Day in the orchards. Their bodies are solid gold, and I've seen the victims, who either die immediately or suffer stings at least the size of plums. Some endure both, but they don't die right away.

I crush a berry and wipe the juice across my lips. They soften almost as soon as they soak up the berry extracts. Something sharp hits my finger. I reach down and find a black rock with a lethal-looking tip. To make sure it will do its job well, I drag the point down my fingertip. A satisfied smile plays on my face when a drop of blood forms and the skin splits at least four layers deep.

The rock did more than its job. I use it to slice roots rather than yank on them, and soon half of my pack is filled with food. I place the rock on the opposite side of the bark and keep searching.

Soon, I find a branch on a small tree that is about eight inches and has another curved branch coming from it. I snap it off its tree and examine my new slingshot. This would work a lot better if I had something to shoot objects with, but I'll keep my eyes open for something.

I've made many homemade slingshots. In winter, branches fall off most trees, so I collect them and make the toys with them. My sisters each have at least one. I tried to sell slingshots once, but my teacher threatened to call the Peacekeepers and have me whipped for selling weapons, so I'd gone home. I don't think slingshots are really weapons, though I never argued because the Peacekeepers will whip or shoot you for any reason. They are easily bored, like the Capitol people, and use any excuse to punish us.

"Okay. I have food, tools, and extra socks. I need water and a place to sleep and then I'm all set," I tell myself quietly. Maybe a sponsor would send me a blanket. As loudly as I think is safe, I say

"Blanket." Now all I can do is hope I have enough sponsors that are willing to pitch in for a blanket, and that Violet will let it be sent. As my mentor, she controls gifts.

I must not have many sponsors, or its too early in the Games to ask for things, because no silver parachute floats down for me. As I think of water, I'm reminded of how thirsty I am. I need to find water.

Stumbling in the dry heat, I trip and fall hard on my knees. I feel my right knee, since it got the worst of it, and discover it's skinned and bleeding. Luckily, I know the plant that will heal this. It's a moss, and there's not much of it. I grab enough for this and a few other possible accidents.

Usually, the moss would be soaked in hot water or at least wet, but I have no water, so I convince myself it's not poisonous and chew it. Then I press the wet moss on each knee. The angry red instantly turns to a pink and the pain subsides.

I tuck the rest of the moss into my pack and keep looking for something to make my slingshot shoot. After half an hour, I remember the elastic bands in my hair. I remove one and fasten it to my slingshot. Then I find some hard and somewhat sharp pebbles and put everything in my backpack.

I'm grateful that my pack is blue, and not bright orange like some others. I return to my tree, very excited that I will live. For the immediate future, anyway.

I jump up when I hear a cannon. That must mean the bloodbath is over. Each blast means one dead tribute. After this, the blast will be heard right when someone dies, but even protected by a hovercraft most people don't want to enter the fight to retrieve a body. I count each cannon shot. Eleven in all; almost half of us are dead. I won't know who is dead until a screen projects their faces into the sky. The pictures will be the same ones that they used to show our training scores.

Since I didn't find water, I eat some berries to hydrate me a little. Well, at least they moisten my mouth. It's cold and I would love to make a fire, but not only am I in a tree, it's also dangerous. Even if I'm not a threat to the Careers, I don't think they'd pass on a chance to kill me. Here, the cost of a fire is my life, and I'd like to keep that a while longer.

I'm thrilled when I realize that if I make it through the night, which isn't a given, I will have stayed alive for Lavender's birthday. Maybe that will count as a present from me. I should have remembered to get her something before I left. My only relief here is that she's too young to really even understand the concept.

I chew a few more roots and almost cry with joy when I realize there's water in them. Why did it not appear when I cut them out of the ground? My question is answered when I see the pockets of water every few inches. Somehow, I must have cut on those lines.

My mouth is not dry or waxy anymore, so I lean back and rest. My heart skips about three beats when I hear footsteps below me. The Careers.

"Over here! There's something in that tree!" One shouts. They do not have the practice I have; their footsteps are very loud, cracking twigs and branches with each stomp. His hand points to a tree maybe a hundred feet away from mine. I must be blending in very well.

"It's a bird nest, you idiot!" The girl from District 1 screeches. Then their loud steps gradually quiet as they continue walking. It's more like hunting, really. Bird nest...could it be mockingjays? I listen hard for their songs, but hear nothing. Maybe they're asleep.

I would go to sleep, but I don't want the Careers to come back and kill me. It would be too easy for them; I'd never wake up from that nap.

Climbing very carefully down my tree, I decide to set an alarm in case they return. With my rock, I cut a long vine from a branch and tie it to the lowest branches of my tree and the one next to it. I repeat this for all four sides. The vines are about neck level for the Careers; maybe they'll be strangled, too. No, that would be just too much luck.

Then I hang bits of wood, berry stems, and rocks off the vines so that if anyone touches them, the noise will wake me up. By the time they realize a person set the trap and therefore must be nearby, they'll be trapped. A cluster of bushes with edible nuts is about ten feet away. I pull a few handfuls and stuff them in my pack. Peeling the shells will be part of my job tomorrow.

I climb swiftly back up my tree, getting my jacket caught on many branches. _These would make great firewood, _I think. If only I was brave enough to light one.

Merely because I need something to do, I carve designs into the tree bark that only I would know were made by a person. Everyone else would just think the scratches were natural. Hopefully, I'll be more occupied tomorrow in my search for more water. I can't live off roots forever.

I'm just dozing off when I hear the anthem of Panem blaring. I sit up against my branch and look up to see who died yesterday. Was Thresh one of them? I doubt it; he's almost as big as the District 2 boy. What about Katniss from 12? Did she make it? With that 11 in training, she was probably a big target for the Careers.

I look at the first of the now dead tributes. The girl from District 3. So all the tributes from 1 and 2 are alive. Not surprising, as the Careers usually live past the first day. So the next face comes as a surprise. The boy from 4 is dead. The boy from 5, both tributes from 6 and 7, and the boy from 8 are next. I wonder how they all died. The thought makes my stomach hurt, so I look up and see the boy from District 9. I think I saw Katniss fighting with him. The girl from District 10 is the last to appear. I watched her die.

A tribute, I think the boy from 6, had managed to sink a spear into her back, but she retaliated with a heavy mace to his head. I don't know how a 14-year-old like her managed to even pick up the weapon. Then they'd both collapsed, dead on the ground.

The Capitol seal is back, and I fall asleep with an almost empty stomach and a slightly dry mouth. I can't risk drinking more of my water or eating anything else. That is for emergencies, and I'm as safe as I'll get here. The only reason I'm able to sleep is because half my nights at home feel like this. Except there, at least I have a bed with some sort of blanket and the warmth of my sisters against me. Here, my only company is the chilled wind that sends quakes down my spine. The extra socks from my pack come in handy; I put them on my hands.

A cannon wakes me up soon later, though I don't know how much because of the lack of clocks here. There's no telling who it was, so I close my eyes and decide to wait until tomorrow to find out. That means half the tributes are gone.

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	12. Chapter 12

**Everyone, say Hi to chapter 12. **

**Disclaimer (for the last two chapters…): I don't own Rue or The Hunger Games, or she would have survived somehow. However...**

Chapter 12: Staying Alive

The sun is already beating down when I wake up. I bet the Gamemakers are controlling the temperature, making it scalding during the day and cold at night.

I climb down my tree, my pack over my shoulder. I still have most of my berries left, so I cut more roots. Containing food and water, they are a great thing to have. I need real water, though. To fill my water skin.

After wandering for an hour or two, I don't find even a puddle. Reaching into my pack, I pull out a root and bite into the watery part. I sit down and scratch patterns into the dirt with a twig. When I'm done, I drag my boot across them so no one would see that I've been here. I feel like I'm forgetting something. My traps! I left them on the tree.

I yank the vines, and the berries and rocks fall to the ground. I roll up the vines and hang them from a tree about ten yards away. Then I walk to a small clearing with a large boulder in the middle of it. I sit down, and peel the shells of the nuts I gathered last night. Before I can stop myself, I eat a small handful. They are salty on the outside, and have a sweet aftertaste. I don't know what these are called, and I'm too absorbed in eating them to come up with one.

The food dries out my mouth again, and I remember why I even left the safety of my tree in the first place. Water. I jog for about an hour before I see mud. Where there's mud, there's usually water. Sure enough, a small pond surrounded my bushes sits behind the mud. Just in case, I smear a layer of mud across my pack to camouflage it. I don't have iodine, so the water will need to boil before I can drink it. I hope that will be enough to remove the bacteria.

I fill my water skin with cool water and pour it over my arms to remove the dirt. I also let it run through my hair and brush out knots with my fingers. Ow, not trying that again.

Boiling water will inevitably require a fire, so I hack out the inside of a tall bush with my rock and spend half an hour trying to light a fire. Then there are footsteps. I stand up, grab my pack, kick away my footprints, and run. I've just reached the safety of a tree branch again when I see my follower. It's the girl from District 5, with the red hair and squinty eyes.

She's smart, and she can tell someone was at the pond. I learn that she's also easily scared off. I slingshot a twig at her, and after a nervous glance, she darts away in the direction she came.

Then I begin the slow jog that will bring me back to my tree in an hour or so. I manage to find the right tree before climbing to the safe branch I've spent so much time in.

Tomorrow I will get the water. I want my hair to dry, so I inch forward, as far as I'm willing to go on my branch, into sunlight. It's afternoon now, and I'm tempted by the apple in my pack. The reason I end up eating it is that I'm afraid it will rot before I get to it.

The skin breaks under my teeth, and I'm rewarded with the taste my sisters and I love so much. Apples have always been a favorite of mine, next to the shiny pink fruits I resembled in the opening ceremony. I find another hidden pouch of my pack to put it in, but am surprised to find a pack of crackers and a tiny bottle of juice.

This is almost considered spoiling even at home, and here I am where I could die any second with richer food than at my home. I decide to rip off pieces of apple, which is no easy task, and pile them on crackers. I now have nine of the original twelve crackers left, and half an apple.

Since the amount of food in my pack is enough for at least three days, I want to set traps. Meat would be great right now, even if I don't get much anyway. My family has never, at least since I was born, had so much as a groosling leg to themselves. Besides Aspen and Willow. They are at an age where they are growing, and need that much food. On the nights where they're really hungry, I don't eat unless there are some berries in the cupboards.

I doubt I'd have the courage to kill an animal right now, but if I was really starving, I might. However, right now I have a chance to eat just as much as I do at home. Giving a resigned sigh, I sit back against the tree trunk.

I start to fall asleep, and in my wavering state of consciousness, I hallucinate. The forest moves in waves like the ones they show District 4 having on TV. That was a beautiful picture. I watched that with Rosie.

District 4's oceans also contain creatures called dolphins. Before the Dark Days, what we call the war that created these Games, people traveled far to play with them. The dolphins had swooped through waves like silver rafts. In one picture, a girl had been riding one, an ecstatic smile on her face. Rosie had invented some song about dolphins that I think just said, "Dolphin, dolphin, pretty dolphin..." over and over. She was three then, so I have a vague memory of the show. I had been Lilac's age, in no danger of the Hunger Games, when now I was living them.

The rest of my afternoon is spent taking small naps that only last about twenty minutes each. I slip in and out of awareness, dreaming of my sisters. I see all their birthdays, the day Lilac started work in the orchards, Rosie's first day of school, Aspen deciding she wanted the spot next to me in our bed, Willow's drawings of us, and Lavender's first words. A lump forms in my throat when my final flashback is my parents, smiling proudly.

Then I truly wake up, shivering even though the temperature had to be at least 85 degrees. Those images played in the back of my mind hauntingly.

I climb down from my tree, wanting to do something productive before the anthem comes on and I will sleep. My promise to myself was to try to sleep after the anthem each night.

It's not worth returning to the pond, so I chew some mint leaves I find on a nearby bush. I stuff more into my rapidly filling backpack.

I rush back up my tree when the anthem starts to play. The person who was killed last night was the girl from 8.

I wake up the next morning and go on a search for the pond I saw yesterday. It takes me longer than yesterday, because I ran out of the roots containing water last night. I sink the skin under the sparkly surface of the water and hear the growling in my stomach when I notice I caught a little fish in it. But no matter how hungry I am, I have more food and can't bring myself to kill and eat this little fish. Twigs are all over, so I grab two and pick up the fish between them. Then I place its wriggling body back into the water.

I finally get water with no fish in it and bring it to the bush I hollowed out. I grab dry wood and spend a long time lighting a fire. Good thing I tried the fire-making station during training. The water boils quickly, but it needs to cool, so I set the skin down in the shade and sit next to it. These activities take me the whole day, and it's dark by the time I sit to rest.

That night, I discover an entertaining past-time of dreaming up my dress if I win. I'm nowhere near sure that I will win, but it's fun to pretend. My mind gives me an especially disturbing idea:

_"No, Rue, don't! I'm sorry!" Cato from District 2 is on his knees begging. I have to win, but I don't want to kill him. Somehow, Cato turns into a beautiful blue dress covered in embroidered berries. To make sure there's no Cato left in it, I take his sword-it fell when he transformed-and stab it down the neck of the dress, then into the dress itself. It lets out a horrible scream, and I retreat. A cannon fires, announcing my victory. _

_ When Birch shows me the dress that I will wear to be crowned victor, I turn away. It's the same one that Cato turned into. As I walk out of the room in it after being forced into the dress, I swear it tries its best to trip me._

I can't believe myself for having those thoughts. It's concerning, actually. Maybe that apple was rotten.

I drink the rest of the cooled water, and boil more. There's a faint smell of smoke. Is it my fire, now put out? Probably.

But there are footsteps now. And screaming. The smoky smell gets stronger. Fire! The Gamemakers must have set this up, because there were no deaths yesterday or today, and boring is the one thing the Games can never be. Brutal, sad, violent, gory, and deadly are perfectly fine to the Capitol.

I tell myself it's not a fire, even though I know it is. I have to stay calm, or it will kill me. Running sounds like a good idea. I hate having to leave my tree, but it's better than leaving my life behind. Much better. I stand up and run as fast as my legs will let me, away from the footsteps. They're really more of a stampede.

The last thing I see before I sprint away is a willow tree, burning. My heart sinks. Willow has to live, she's already outlasted her namesake. And if I make it to the final eight, they will interview my family. Willow, Aspen, maybe even Poppy. There are no aspens here, as far as I can see, but there could be, since they originated near the Capitol. The fire I'm running from is no regular campfire. No human could have started this, even if they wanted to. This is a Gamemaker fire, caused by machines carefully crafted to do just this.

It's a tiring run with no time to pause for water, though I finally have it. The smoke fills my lungs, and I bend over in a coughing fit after about half an hour. My body tries to take deep breaths after every cough, but my chest just fills with more smoke. I pull my pack from my shoulders and hold it to my mouth. The clean air inside lets my heart beat slightly slower, as it no longer has to fight to keep blood moving. I gasp in the fresh air from the leaves and berries, dreading the moment when it runs out.

The fire is long gone now, but a thick layer of smoke coats both my lungs and the forest. I'm glad I was farther away from it than the others, or I'd be dead. They are not trying to kill us, the Gamemakers, just trying to bring us together. I guess they'd rather watch us kill each other. It's sad to think that the entertainment of a whole country revolves around homicidal kids, but it does.

Lilac had once asked why we had the Hunger Games.

"We lost the war, Lilac, and to show us how weak they think we are, they invented them," I told her.

"But why do they wanna watch kids die?" It had been getting late, and she was tired, meaning she did not talk to her full ability.

"I don't know," I'd admitted. "I really don't." Usually I could answer all Lilac's questions, but now I had no reply.

"Oh…" She said, and fell asleep next to me. Innocent Lilac, who now had to take on being the oldest child.

A whistling next to my ear shakes me from my thoughts. Firebombs? Creative and effective is all they need to be, and besides dangerous, that's all they are.

I end up doing an awkward dance, trying to dodge the flaming fireballs. They are small, but packed with force. A squeal nearby tells me not only do the fireballs hurt, but that someone is here. It's the fox-like girl from District 5. I doubt she'll kill me now, with her own life at stake. In my distraction, a hot fireball grazes my left forearm.

"Ow! Ow, ow, ow!" I mutter, but don't say more than that, in hopes of earning sponsors. They do not want to spend money on someone who cries at a small burn. But they do have to realize that I'm human, and feel pain.

The skin is an angry red, and one layer is already swelling. Medicine would be great, but if sponsors won't even send a blanket, I doubt very much that they will buy me something to heal this.

I stumble around, angry that the smoke is back, cursing the ache in my chest. Why fire? They could have set up a flood instead. Then I'd have water; the days wouldn't be so dry. But fire is a lot less scary when your life is all you have to lose.


	13. Chapter 13

**I know it's a lot about Katniss, but I needed a reason for someone as smart as Rue to just decide to ally with her. So, we're going to say that Rue notices and admires her somehow before they allies. 'Kay?**

**Disclaimer: Los Juegos del Hambre no es mi libro. A Rue también no es de mi. (The Hunger Games is not my book. Rue is also not mine.)**

Chapter 13: The Tracker Jackers

It's just past dawn now. My throat is dry; the fire made my water warm and smoky. It's not safe to drink anymore. I need a new pond or river to use as a water source. My pack is fine except for a small black bit on the side.

I take the moss used for wounds and pour the heated ashen water over it. Then I press it to my burn. This does little to heal me, though, and now my moss is gone. I'm hungry, so I eat the other half of my apple with some crackers. All I have left is roots, leaves, berries, and six crackers. Then I remember the red juice in my pack. It was hidden in a separate compartment, so it's still mostly cold and smells normal. I down the small bottle, knowing I'll regret it later, but I tell myself not to care until that happens.

Of course, less than an hour later, I find a pond. Ashes and dust coat my body again, so for the second time in a few days, I pour water over my arms and legs. The cool water feels good. _The Careers will never find me here, _I think, smiling.

That's where I'm wrong. It's late afternoon when I hear voices and begin scaling a tall tree with a layer of leaves to hide behind. I almost fall from my eighty foot height when there's a rustling in the tree next to mine. Relief floods through me when I realize it's just Katniss, trying to avoid the Careers. They stand under her tree.

"How's everything with you?" She calls cheerfully. I giggle, and crawl forward to watch. I'm in need of entertainment, since I don't count kids dying as a good source of it.

"Well enough. Yourself?" Cato, the boy from 2 answers. He is amused by her bravery, just like me. Katniss must know that she's completely safe in a tree. She is at least sixty pounds lighter than the smallest Career, and I'm probably thirty or forty pounds less than that. I notice a gap in the leaves and inch over to it. Now I can see everything happening below me.

"A bit warm for my taste. The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?" Katniss says politely, with the perfect touch of sarcasm.

"I think I will," Cato replies. The girl from 1 tries to give him a bow and arrow, but he refuses and pulls a short sword from his belt. Someone calls the girl Glimmer, and I hide my smirk at the pathetic name.

When Cato tries to climb the tree, I shrink back against the trunk. He only gets about ten feet up before his branch cracks and he falls. Then Glimmer tries, but has the sense to stop before she breaks her neck. She gives a weak attempt at shooting the silver bow-and-arrow at Katniss. The arrow sticks in the tree, and Katniss waves it teasingly above her head.

Peeta, who I didn't know was with the Careers, sighs and says that they should just leave her up there. It's dark, so they light torches and camp out below Katniss. She's stuck in that tree, unless she can distract them. With what, though? My ears alert me to a soft humming. Tracker jackers.

Her eyes meet mine. But Katniss' lips form the word "possum", so I am still unidentified. Oops. I make the mistake of blinking, and her look of surprise makes me realize she knows who I am now. Katniss looks helplessly at me, and I remember the tracker jackers. I search for the place where the humming comes from, and spot the nest about 15 feet above her head.

I am an expert at finding these nests. They are all over the orchards, and I've led my sisters away from enough of them to be able to find the nests.

Aspen nearly got stung by one of these mutant wasps once. I'd walked with her to the meadow, her favorite place, not remembering that it was tracker jacker season. They were floating around. Excited, Aspen had run around and picked strawberries. What she hand't known was that tracker jackers drifted lazily around the meadow. Her ears were too small and untrained to register the hum. When I finally had, one of the solid gold wasps was after Aspen. I'd picked her up and used my body to protect her from the tracker jackers. Finally, they'd disappeared.

That was reaping day last year. We were already running late, and attendance at the reaping is mandatory. Peacekeepers actually come to every house to make sure no one is at home unless they are actually in the process of dying. Then they can ensure that if they rig the drawing, the child they choose will be in the crowd. The drawings were not often rigged, usually only when a victor's child became eligible. One of our victors, Seeder, once had a daughter. The day that girl turned twelve, six years ago, the glass orbs had been filled with only her name. That was one of the earliest reapings I can remember. But when I focus hard on it, I can hear Flora's voice saying the girl's name and the stiff steps she took. I shiver in my branch.

I extend one hand out into the open without rustling a leaf. I point to the nest so Katniss will be warned. I could just not tell her and let her die when they sting her, but I want to keep my record clean. The people in the Capitol not only bet on the winner, but in the number of kills each person makes. I don't want to be known as a killer. Her eyes follow my finger to the nest, and she looks at it curiously. In case she looks over to confirm what it is, I nod, but Katniss never glances back at me.

She gives a determined little nod and slides out of her sleeping bag. The seal of the Capitol comes on. By the time the anthem plays, I know what she's planning. Katniss is going to send the nest down to the Careers.

When the anthem ends, she's only about three quarters of the way done, and Katniss clambers back down to her sleeping bag on branches that look much too thin, even for her. She looks almost comfortable in the bag; I wish I'd grabbed one.

There were no deaths today, but the entertainment level is still good, because of the fire and the injuries and the Careers have not just one, like they think, but two tributes treed.

I curl up against the tree trunk, and put my extra socks on my hands again. This is the first night since the first one where I might get a decent amount of sleep. I heard a soft thud a few minutes ago, but now I know what it was. Katniss has received a sponsor gift. I have not gotten anything yet, and District 12 is even more poor than 11. But I bet they lined up for miles to sponsor her. No one bothered to sponsor me yet.

I don't even get to see what she got before I fall asleep. My dreams are filled with flames, burning down everything in their path.

Just as the night sky turns gray, early in the morning, I hear my name.

"Rue!" It's barely a whisper, and I know it's Katniss. I blink and scoot forward on the branch. Katniss uses her knife to make a sawing motion. Should she send the branch with the nest down to the Careers. I nod. Then I stand up, grab my pack, and jump to a branch in a tree in the other direction. Just like what I showed the Gamemakers in training. Except right now, it's not silent; this is hard in the little amount of light I have.

I want to far away when she lets the tracker jackers go. When I stop moving, I can just see the lake. Luckily, I'm on the side across from the Career camp. They are set up near the Cornucopia. Maybe I can spy on them.

Two cannons fire, almost right after each other. I'm sure that two Career tributes are dead. I don't think it was Katniss, and I don't want it to be Katniss. I'll find out in the sky tonight. If two Careers are dead, then there are only three of them left. Plus Peeta, but from the screaming I heard before I was out of earshot, I don't think he counts anymore.

It takes me about an hour to find a good hiding spot behind a bush. I'm concealed from anyone who might want to kill me, and there are a lot of those people.

Peeta is not at their base camp. The girls from 1 and 4 are also missing. Were they killed in the tracker jacker attack? Probably. For some reason, the boy from District 3, Asher, I think, has joined them. I have no idea why, but he must be incredibly smart because he's not at all strong. One other thing looks wrong. All their supplies are set up just like the Cornucopia was. The higher the value, the closer to the main pile it is.

They seem to be well-fed, and they must be, with only four people living off that large assortment of food. Even the richer part of District 11 has nowhere near that much per person. Then again, they get nowhere near the amount of exercise and don't live in as much danger in my district. The Careers know alliances will end badly, but they're just heartless enough to kill each other.

I feel terrible for not remembering my sisters, who I almost surely will never see again. In the Capitol, all I did was think of them, but now, I'm focused on my own life.

Now I eat three more of my crackers. To add some taste, I crush some berries and smear them across the cracker. My stomach no longer growls, but I should get water while I'm here. The lake is so close to my bush that I can reach it when I stretch out. I crawl on my stomach towards it, trying to make slow movements in case anyone is watching from the other side of the lake. I sink the skin in the cool water, and lift it out, full.

I am thrilled to find an almost-empty bottle of iodine next to me. Without even considering that it could be a trick, I put a few drops into the water, hoping it's enough for that amount. This tiny vial will last for about one more use.

Only then do I think that this could be a trick; the iodine could be poisoned, so before I drink any, I inhale the scent. It smells like, well, regular water, so I drink half the contents of the skin happily.

There is hollering from the Career camp. Do they see me? I really hope not. Cato points excitedly to a spot nowhere near me, though, so I use that distraction to return to my bush.

Then I run back into the woods, discovering a safe resting place by a small pond. I'm propped up by large boulders that almost form a chair. A clucking behind me registers. A groosling! So there is a source of meat in the arena. If only I had something to kill it with. Somehow, I doubt throwing my rock at it will so the job. I notice that the cut I gave myself when I checked to make sure it was sharp is almost gone.

Now I dig the rock out of my pack. Cut some roots. Then I sort my pack carefully, still using the thin piece of bark between tools and food. Just for fun, I paint a target on a tree with berry juice and practice shooting my homemade slingshot. I wish I had something better to shoot with. I need that elastic band for my hair, which gets worse every day.

Not far away, I find a stretchy plant that works beautifully. It is just strong enough to not snap when I press the sharp rock into it.

I decide I need a bath. I roll up my pant legs to my thighs and use moss to scrub the dirt away. More moss dries them, and I pull the pant legs back down. Then I remove my jacket and do the same for my arms. I even remove my T-shirt and sit there in my undershirt.

Half an hour later, my arms, legs, shoulders, neck, and face are clean. It feels good to be clean again. I actually miss the Capitol showers. My hair is almost a lost cause, because it's so long, so I cut off about eight inches with the rock. Much better. Now I crush dried mint leaves into almost a powder and set them down on a leaf that has to be larger than my head.

Since it's light out, I make a fire to heat some water that I put in another large leaf. The water is warm now, so I mix it with berries and mint leaves and rub the mixture into my hair. It acts as a very weak conditioner, but at least it gets out some knots. I figure that my hair will dry in the sunlight, so I put it up in the elastic band.

I stay at the pond for a while, drinking water and eating some berries. As quietly as I can, I sing to some mockingjays. I'm so glad they are here. They echo every tune I sing, making me realize how much I missed home. _I have to stay strong. No crying,_ I tell myself harshly. But it's true. If I cry, sponsors will lose what little interest they had in me.

**Reviews make the world spin…um. Faster? Slower? You choose, I don't know which is better. :p**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14. Oh yes.**

**Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction site. As in, writing based off other books. End of story.**

Chapter 14: Alone

A tree right by the pond will be where I stay tonight. It's about sixty feet high, and has thick branches going all the way up to the top. I could easily climb to its full height, so I tell myself that when they show the faces in the sky, that is where I will go. My legs are sore, so I stand up and walk in small circles around the pond.

I do not have my jacket on, but when a cold breeze blows in I tug it on. The sleeves, I realize for the first time, are way too long, but I can't do much about that, since I doubt my rock can slice through the fabric. If it could, the jacket would be in shreds from the plants I've encountered.

A nap would be nice right now. I crawl into a gap between the boulders and notice happily that I'm completely hidden here. So I curl up into a ball and drift off. I have never felt so alone.

My brain is finally not overtired, so I get real dreams instead of hazy images.

_Lavender walks over to me, glowing with pride. She is five years old. She has just started school and was complimented by her class for singing a song very well. _

_ "It was a song about the meadow, with the butterflies and the trees," Lavender tells me. I nod, interested._

_ "Will you sing it for me?" I ask._

_ "Well, I need a partner to sing it. Do you know the song?" She asks shyly._

_ "No...I bet I could learn, though," I say enthusiastically. _

_ "Okay! It goes like this," Lavender begins, and sings her song in a sweet voice. I smile, wondering vaguely why I don't remember Lavender turning three, four, or five. _

Right. Lavender turned three a few days ago. The Hunger Games started on her birthday. That was a dream. I will never see Lavender, or Lilac, Rosie, Aspen, or Willow ever again. But they can see me, from the TV screen at home. Which is why I must be brave. They can't know how scared and hopeless I am.

I rub my eyes; it's only just getting dark, so I didn't sleep long. Slowly, I stretch myself out, pick up my pack, and begin climbing my new tree. The anthem could start any minute. A little hollow in the trunk of the tree, about forty feet up, stores my pack perfectly. It may be some squirrel's home, but I can worry about that later.

I begin climbing towards the very top of the tree, I think it's an oak, but I'm not sure, anyway I maneuver through the leaves until there is nothing above me. Sure enough, the anthem sounds a few minutes later. Just the girls from 1 and 4, Glimmer and Monaline, at least that's what I heard someone call them, are gone.

Wishing that sleep would come faster, I curl up in a branch next to the hollow where I put my pack. It is thicker than my fist, and might even hold a Career. I sigh when I see a fat rabbit scamper right below the tree. If only I had something to kill it with and the heart to end its life. But I have neither.

When the sky is the same black as burnt bread, well, anything burnt really, I am fast asleep.

Mockingjays wake me early in the morning. The sky is still a light gray, with gentle waves of pink and orange in it. Besides water and food, it's the prettiest thing I've seen in the arena. I picture days like these, without the danger of being killed, with my sisters. Aspen and Willow would point happily and say how beautiful it was, Lavender would say nothing at all, just look up, enchanted. Rosie and Lilac would both wish they had something to take a picture.

_If I win, I will buy them each a camera, in any color they want,_ I tell myself, though I know my chances of living are slim. There are ten tributes left, and all of them are stronger, bigger, and maybe smarter than me. No, some of those Careers are really stupid, just cunning. So most are smarter.

I have a feeling the Gamemakers will set some new torture on us today; it's been more than a day since the tracker jacker incident. Sure enough, an hour later or so, the butterflies come. They are the brightest colors I've ever seen, counting the Capitol buildings. At first I think they are just butterflies, but why would the Capitol give us something as nice as those? It doesn't take long for me to realize they are poisonous. I can feel my throat closing, so I run away, breathing hard through my tightly swollen windpipe.

Fortunately, the butterflies are much slower than me, and it takes only about ten minutes to outrun and lose them. I hope they do not come back.

I have reached the edge of the forest. Curious, I step forward to see what lies beyond it. A large plain of plants that look like wheat. There's movement about sixty feet in, and I know somehow it's Thresh. He knows all about these plants; we learn about them in school once a week. The grains are in different colored patches, and without giving it a second thought, I can tell which are safe and which ones aren't. The reddish plants are edible and can heal mild cases of coughing, but the dark brown grain-like plant will kill you before you can look up what you ate.

Soon later, a handful of the red wheat sits in my palm. I'm hungry, and in case I don't find more soon, I won't eat any of my saved roots and berries. The small meal is gone in a very short amount of time.

I'm thrilled when a mockingjay lands right next to me, on a branch at my shoulder level. I sing it the song that I use at the end of the workday in the orchards at home. Obviously it is a young mockingjay, because it takes a long time to master the song. I must have demonstrated five times before the tune is repeated successfully. Oh well, it gives me something to do.

Now I start to move again; I want to be deep into the woods when the anthem plays tonight. Of course, it's late morning now, so I have a long time. Another bush of my berries lies not too far away. I almost empty the bush's contents into both my mouth and pack.

Feeling full for the first time in a while, I begin to run. As I place a few more berries on my tongue, I notice how prominent my ribs and hips have become. Compared to me, Rosie looks very well fed. There is no more to me than skin and bones. I hope my clothes do a good job of hiding some of that. They were made to fit me as a skinny, but then healthy girl of about seventy pounds. I'd put on some weight from the rich food in the training center. Now I'd be lucky to tip the scale at sixty-five dripping wet. My clothes hang around my ribs. Maybe possible sponsors will overlook that and still sponsor the smallest tribute.

I find a patch of soft grass, which is weird when I remember I'm in the Hunger Games, in a forest. Too tired to question it, I fill my water skin with cool water from a stream nearby and use the last of my "borrowed" iodine. I don't want to be found, so I bury the tiny bottle in some mud. Now I stretch out in the grass and rest. Only about ten minutes after I lay down, my skin is covered with red welts, blisters, and itchy scabs.

Angry at myself for not suspecting a catch, I dig out some of the leaves for tracker jacker stings and chew them. It's not worth it to use my water, and I don't want to boil or crush the leaves either. After about a minute, I run the green wad up and down each arm and leg. They are the only bare skin that touched the painful grass. The leaves heal my wounds quickly, except for the blisters that I don't want to pop. But I have to. I use a needle from a pine-like tree and jab it in to all thirteen of the blisters that cover my arms and legs. They open and release a watery liquid. This I wipe off with my jacket sleeve, then chew and hold more leaves to each former blister.

I claim a new tree with very thick branches that go all the way up. On my side, I'm completely hidden on them. So I lean back, extend my legs, and fall asleep. Tonight the anthem will wake me, and I can go from there.

My dreams are fretful, but blurry and not fully comprehensible. I see flashbacks of random moments throughout my life. Pictures of my family circulate through my subconscious head. The dreams go as far as to include whole conversations I don't remember having, let alone memorizing. Most of these involve Poppy, the way she turned fear into excitement. Maybe my brain is trying to send me a message. Should I try that?

The anthem wakes me up, as I thought it would. I didn't hear a cannon, but the sky confirms that no one died today.

Because this might be my last chance to get a lot of sleep before the Gamemakers invent something to massacre us, I just sleep the rest of the night dreamlessly.

It's hard to sleep that much, so when I'm fully rested, just when the sun rises, I sit up and rub my eyes so hard I see black. Then I blink for a long time until my eyes stop blacking out.

A sweet mockingjay tune refreshes me enough to get down from the tree with my pack and ,even in the low light, search for anything of use to me. I find a new kind of root I recognize. About ten bunches of them go into my pack, the rest I eat greedily. Today I will find a more permanent place to stay. Maybe I can find the place with the boulders and pond where I stayed the other day.

All morning, I look for a similar spot to the one I loved so much, but don't find so much as a pebble to make up for the lack of boulders. When the sun is high in the sky, I assume it's lunchtime and finish the last of my three crackers with berries. My water skin is halfway full, so I stop and refill it at the river that runs through the arena. I heat it, then tuck it into my pack for now, until it cools enough to be of some use.

Then I wash the dirt and blood and grime I have no name for off again. My skin feels better when it's not smothered in layers of disgusting things. I smooth some warm water onto my wounds from that grass yesterday and when the stinging subsides, they look almost healed. I thank the tracker jacker leaves for this.

I spend a long time wandering around in search of a place to stay for a few days, where no amount of searching will let me be found.

I duck behind a tree when I see Katniss, roasting a groosling. So she can not only hunt, but has the weapons to do so. I wonder if she would give me a leg if I asked. She also has some painful-looking tracker jacker stings on her knee, cheek, and neck. Should I offer her treatment in return for meat? In thought, I accidentally step on and crack a twig.

Katniss looks up, sensing something, and I want to yell at myself for being so careless. She grins and relaxes slightly. Too late, I realize my boot sticks out from behind the tree trunk.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed! I love going to my email and seeing like four new reviews! **

**Do you know how hard it was to go back and forth from the book for the dialogue? I remember lugging my laptop, notebook, and copy of THG to my little brother's football game last year…:p**

**Disclaimer: As surely as there is a golden retriever next to me eating a mint, I am not the owner of The Hunger Games. **

Chapter 15: The Alliance

"You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances," Katniss says, seeming as surprised as I am that the words actually came out of her mouth. I don't respond for a while, trying to think of how to answer. Then I lean left a little so she can see one eye and ask,

"You want me for an ally?"

"Why not? You saved me with those tracker jackers," she says, which might be enough for me, but she keeps going. "You're smart enough to still be alive. And I can't seem to shake you anyway." Apparently I'm not a good shadow. I blink, not sure if I want an ally or not. But she does have meat, which she offers me now.

"You hungry? Come on then, I've had two kills today." I swallow hard, and try not to gaze too longingly at the meat. If she gives me food, I must make myself useful. I step out from behind the tree carefully.

"I can fix your stings," I say shyly. This does the trick. Katniss lights up.

"You can? How?" In response, I dig around in my pack and pull out the leaves. Her eyes widen.

"Where'd you find those?" Katniss asks, amazed. I can't believe someone as smart as her wouldn't have noticed the leaves. But then again, District 12 is in charge of mining coal.

"Just around. We all carry them when we work in the orchards," I tell her. "They left a lot of nests there. There are a lot here, too." Katniss nods when I finish.

"That's right. You're District Eleven. Agriculture. Orchards, huh? That must be how you can fly around the trees like you've got wings," Katniss says kindly. She's noticed one of the few things I'm proud of. I smile. Now she keeps going.

"Come on, then. Fix me up." Katniss sits down by her fire and rolls up her pant leg to show me an ugly sting. She looks confused when I put the leaves in my mouth. Does she know about these leaves and how they're meant to be used, or is she just wondering why I would eat leaves to heal her?

"Ooh…." She sighs when I press the wet clump of leaves to her knee. I have never been stung, so I don't know what the relief feels like, but I can imagine. I giggle, something I haven't done in a long time. But then again, I haven't spoken to anyone in a while, either.

"Lucky you had the sense to pull the stingers out, or you'd be a lot worse," I say, proud to know this.

"Do my neck! Do my cheek!" Katniss sounds like Rosie when she really wants something that she knows is right there out of her reach. Basically, she begs.

I put more leaves in my mouth and hold them to her neck and cheek, grinning when Katniss laughs giddily. The relief must be that sweet. Then she notices the long burn on my arm from the fireballs.

"I've got something for that," Katniss says slowly. She sets down her bow and arrow and holds a tiny pot out to me. Then she rubs an ointment of some kind along the burn.

"You have good sponsors," I point out sadly. No one sent me anything.

"Have you gotten anything yet?" Katniss asks gently. I shake my head. "You will, though. Watch. The closer we get to the end, the more people will realize how clever you are." Her attention returns briefly to the meat over the flames.

"You weren't joking, about wanting me for an ally?" I wonder aloud. I hope this isn't some elaborate joke. Though Katniss doesn't seem the type to do that sort of thing.

"No, I meant it," She says truthfully. It sounds sincere, so I calm down.

"Okay," I reply, extending my hand. Katniss shakes it. "It's a deal."

_As long as we're not in the final two, because only one of us can go home, _I think. Katniss glances at the roasting groosling.

"Oh, you caught a groosling!" I exclaim. Katniss looks confused, so I tell her that a groosling is a wild bird that sometimes wanders into the orchards. The confusion clears, and I decide to add a handful of roots to the meal. It seems fair to repay her for the meat, and she looks glad to see more food. Obviously District 12 doesn't have the plant life education we have. But if she killed that rabbit, she must have some training in the woods. As an afterthought, I contribute some of the nuts I gathered and peeled a few days ago. Roasted, the roots taste great.

Groosling is a very greasy meat, messy but delicious, when we ever get it. We don't speak for a few minutes while we eat.

"Oh," I sigh, "I've never had a whole leg to myself before." That's very true, the most of a groosling leg I've ever had to myself is a fourth, when our family was given two legs to eat. We usually only have meat when a flock comes through the fence of District 11.

"Take the other," Katniss tells me.

"Really?" I can't believe this. Why would she let me, a brand-new ally, have both groosling legs?

"Take whatever you want. Now that I've got a bow and arrow, I can get more. Plus I've got snares. I can show you how to set them," She offers generously. I still just look at the leg in her hand hungrily.

"Oh, take it," Katniss says, placing the drumstick in my palms. "It will only keep a few days anyway, and we've got the whole bird plus the rabbit."

Since it's in my hands already, I can't help but take a large bite of the fatty meat. My appetite has won this battle.

"I'd have thought, in District Eleven, you'd have a bit more to eat than us. You know, since you grow the food," Katniss says. But why would we automatically get to eat the food we grow and harvest. My eyes have widened.

"Oh, no, we're not allowed to eat the crops."

"They arrest you or something?" Katniss responds. District 12 must be very lenient if she doesn't know how cruel the Peacekeepers are.

"They whip you and make everyone else watch," I say simply. I wonder if this comment is being blocked by the TV editors in the Capitol. Probably it is. They don't want the districts to know about each other, and they would not approve of my thoughts on the Peacekeepers. It's not uncommon, the whipping, but it's still horrible to watch. A lot of times, the victim dies before the required amount of lashes is given. Almost all of them fall unconscious. Katniss looks shocked; maybe District 12 doesn't have whippings. Maybe their mayor doesn't approve. Or maybe they just couldn't get decent Peacekeepers to enforce the laws.

She doesn't seem like she's about to reply, so I keep talking.

"Do you get all the coal you want?"

"No," Katniss answers, "Just what we buy and whatever we track in on our boots." This makes sense. They get no more advantages from what they produce than we do, and probably the rest of the districts. Besides One and Two. They are in charge of luxury items and weapons. Therefore, they have fancy machines like the Capitol had in District One and real weapons to illegally train with in Two.

"They feed us a bit extra during harvest, so that people can keep going longer," I add.

"Don't you have to be in school?" Katniss wonders, and I don't blame her. I didn't get it at first, either.

"Not during harvest. Everyone works then," I answer. I like hearing about another district. Only the mayor has any contact with other districts and the Capitol.

I suggest laying out all our supplies and dividing them, so we're both set for a few days in case we're separated. Katniss has already shown me most of her food, but she adds a few strips of dried beef and crackers to her pile.

I dump out the contents of my pack, but I only set the food down on the dirt in front of me. The rest I place next to my leg. Katniss is surprised at my amount of berries, roots, nuts, and other plants. Of course, she has much more food than me. Hers is fresh, too.

Katniss picks up a berry.

"You sure this is safe?" I nod in response.

"Oh, yes, we have them back home. I've been eating them for days," I answer, eating some to prove my words. Since I don't keel over, Katniss cautiously bites into one. She looks pleased with the taste. We divide our food, so we both have a little of everything. She surveys my other supplies, which are pitiful compared to hers.

"I know it's not much," I admit, guilty, "but I had to get away from the Cornucopia fast."

"You did just right," Katniss assures me.

Katniss has a water bottle, iodine, matches, a sleeping bag, knife, bow and arrow, some wire, and night-vision glasses! I gasp at the glasses.

"How did you get those?" I ask incredulously.

"In my pack. They've been useless so far. They don't block the sun and they make it harder to see," Katniss shrugs.

"Those aren't for sun, they're for darkness," I explain. "Sometimes, when we harvest through the night, they'll pass out a few pairs to those of us highest in the trees. Where the torchlight doesn't reach. One time, this boy Martin, he tried to keep his pair. Hid it in his pants. They killed him on the spot."

I don't mention that Martin had been a good friend of mine. In fact, he had introduced me to Poppy. So Poppy and I had mourned his death together, secretly though, or we would be whipped. It's illegal to grieve for a "criminal" unless you are related to them.

"They killed a boy for taking these?" Katniss asks, like she's never heard of anything like it. And probably, she hasn't.

"Yes, and everyone knew he was no danger. Martin wasn't right in the head. I mean, he still acted like a three-year-old. He just wanted the glasses to play with," I say. Martin was no danger, but he didn't really act like a toddler. Only in his funniest times was he immature, but those happened often. Most people would describe Martin as not right in the head. Except for those who saw him for who he really was, Poppy and his parents and I.

Katniss is deep in thought, so I don't disturb her. I bet nothing like this ever happens in her district; the look on her face says it all. Finally, she blinks and changes the subject.

"So what do these do?" She asks, picking up the glasses.

"They let you see in complete darkness. Try them tonight when the sun goes down," I suggest.

Then Katniss gives me some matches and I hand her some tracker jacker leaves in case her stings get worse. We put out our fire and walk along the river until it gets darker.

"Where do you sleep? In the trees?" She asks. I nod. "In just your jacket?" I hold up my extra pair of socks.

"I have these for my hands," I say, unsure of what else to reply with.

"You can share my sleeping bag if you want. We'll both easily fit," Katniss offers. My face lights up, even in the dark. This is better than I hoped for. Katniss can tell how excited I am.

We pick a branch in a tall tree and set up our packs and sleeping bags. Then the anthem starts. No deaths.

"Rue, I only woke up today. How many nights did I miss?" Katniss covers her lips with one hand, even though no one could hear over the anthem. But I follow her lead and place my hand over my own mouth.

"Two. The girls from One and Four are dead. There's ten of us left," I respond.

"Something strange happened. At least, I think it did. It might have been the tracker jacker venom making me imagine things. You know the boy from my district? Peeta?" She asks. I nod slowly, wondering where she's going with this. "I think he saved my life. But he was with the Careers."

"He's not with them now," I say. "I've spied on their base camp by the lake. They made it back before they collapsed from the stingers. But he's not there. Maybe he did save you and had to run."

Katniss is silent for a minute. Thinking over what I said. Then she answers.

"If he did, it was all probably just part of his act. You know, to make people think he's in love with me."

Was that an act? I should find out.

"Oh, I didn't think that was an act," I say thoughtfully.


	16. Chapter 16

**Alright, so this is the chapter before…*gulp* Yeah. :p**

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games are, sadly, not mine. Neither is Rue. :(**

Chapter 16: The Plan

"Course it is. He worked it out with our mentor." Katniss replies, only half paying attention. She is focused on the night vision glasses. The anthem ends, and the sky is dark.

"Let's try out these glasses," She says and puts them on. I wasn't lying, about how well they allow you to see in darkness, and Katniss is seeing that now. An almost dangerous look takes over her usually gentle or focused face. What is she thinking of? I have no idea. "I wonder who else got a pair of these," Katniss muses.

"The Careers have two pairs. But they've got everything down by the lake. And they're so strong," I sigh.

"We're strong, too. Just in a different way," She says. In what way am I stronger than the Careers?

"You are. You can shoot," I note. "What can I do?"

"You can feed yourself. Can they?" Katniss asks.

"They don't need to," I say. "They have all those supplies."

"Say they didn't," Katniss begins. "Say the supplies were gone. How long would they last? I mean it's the Hunger Games, right?"

This makes no sense. The Careers _do_ have all those supplies. They aren't hungry.

"But, Katniss, they're not hungry," I say. Katniss gives a mischievous smirk. She has a plan, I can tell. But what is it?

"No, they're not. That's the problem," Katniss grins. Now I will discover her idea. I hope it's driven by logic, not hatred or we will be dead too soon. "I think we're going to have to fix that, Rue."

I smile, and lie down in the sleeping bag. There is a gold glint from her shirt— a mockingjay pin. _Now, _I think, _I can trust her. _

Katniss lies down next to me, and sensing the warmth, I move closer until I'm pressed against her. Now I know how Aspen feels, curled up next to me every night. I have never felt this secure before, even at home. There, my little sisters were protected by me, not protecting me. My parents slept in their own, much smaller bed that only Lavender could squeeze into with them.

When I fall asleep, I think about what a great idea it was to warn Katniss about those mockingjays. If I hadn't, she'd probably be dead. Being part of an alliance seems like a better idea all the time. If only both of us could win…

I wonder how we are going to destroy the Careers' things. I'm too tired to have good ideas. The warmth of another person next to me is comforting, so I sink into unconsciousness.

In the gray morning light, I slide out of the sleeping bag to go find breakfast. Katniss is still fast asleep, and I don't want to wake her yet.

I find a marshy area filled with bugs. Thinking the water there won't be worth the bug bites, I'm ready to move on. Something white catches my eye. Eggs! They are about the size of two fists. I will try to convince Katniss to boil them, but that's risky, so it might not work.

Carefully, I bend down and snatch both eggs. Only one bright blue bug lands on my arm, but I shake it off and emerge from the marsh with no stings or bites.

A cannon booms just as I reach the branch across from Katniss. She sits up, jolted from sleep, and watches me. We wait, but there are no more cannon shots. I hold the eggs close to me, afraid of dropping our breakfast.

"Who do you think that was?" Katniss asks. She's probably wondering about Peeta, because worry shows in her face and she doesn't know any other tributes enough to be concerned for them.

"I don't know. It could have been any of the others. I guess we'll know tonight," I say.

"Who's left again?" asks Katniss.

I pause to remember. "The boy from One. Both tributes from Two. The boy from 3. Thresh and me. And you and Peeta," I say, counting them on my fingers. "That's eight. Wait, and the boy from Ten, the one with the bad leg. He makes nine."

I know there's one more, but I can't think of who. It's a girl, I've seen her somewhat recently. I'll remember later.

"I wonder how that last one died," I comment.

"No telling. But it's good for us. A death should hold the crowd for a bit. Maybe we'll have time to do something before the Gamemakers decide things have been moving too slowly," Katniss says. She sees my cupped hands. "What's in your hands?" she adds.

"Breakfast," I say, holding out the eggs.

"What kind are those?" Katniss asks. She seems suspicious.

"Not sure. There's a marshy area over that way. Some kind of waterbird," I answer.

I really want to cook them, and eating raw eggs could make us sick, but we can't afford to be discovered now. Not when we want to get rid of the supplies.

We each suck out the inside of an egg. This alone is a good breakfast, but we also eat a rabbit leg and some berries. It's a big meal, even considering the Capitol food I gorged myself on during training.

Katniss tugs on her pack. "Ready to do it?"

"Do what?" I ask, but I stand up, ready to do anything she suggests.

"Today we take out the Careers' food," Katniss says.

"Really? How?" I ask, excited. She's surprised by my reaction; maybe she expected me to be scared.

"No idea. Come on, we'll figure out a plan while we hunt."

We actually don't hunt that much because Katniss is asking me every question she can think of about the Career camp.

"It's by the lake, the stash is maybe a hundred feet from that, and the boy from Three is keeping watch over the supplies when they're gone," I reel off. These are the facts I've picked up in my one visit to their camp.

"The boy from District 3? He's working with them?" Katniss asks.

"Yes, he stays at the camp full-time. He got stung, too, when they drew the tracker jackers in by the lake. I guess they agreed to let him live if he acted as their guard. But he's not very big," I say.

"What weapons does he have?" Katniss wonders.

"Not much that I could see. A spear. He might be able to hold a few of us off with that, but Thresh could kill him easily," I recall. Easily is probably an understatement of how Thresh would kill the boy.

"And the food's just out in the open?" she asks. I nod. "Something's not right about that whole setup."

"I know. But I couldn't tell what exactly," I admit. "Katniss, even if you could get to the food, how would you get rid of it?"

"Burn it. Dump it in the lake. Soak it in fuel. Eat it!" Katniss pokes me in the stomach, something I often do to Lilac or Rosie. The younger girls don't understand that it's a friendly gesture and always think I'm mad at them. Now I won't be able to try it again. I giggle at the touch, and Katniss continues.

"Don't worry, I'll think of something. Destroying things is much easier than making them."

I show her some roots and berries to collect, and I gather greens. We devise a plan to ruin the Careers. I tell Katniss about my sisters, how protective I am of them, how I won't eat until they are full. She knows that I gather in the meadows where Peacekeepers are much less forgiving than theirs. Katniss asks what I love most in the world, and I reply, "Music."

"Music?" she asks. I can tell she doesn't find that very important at all. "You have a lot of time for that?"

"We sing at home. At work, too. That's why I love your pin," I answer, pointing the mockingjay on her shirt. Katniss looks down a though she's forgotten about it.

"You have mockingjays?" Katniss asks.

I tell her about the special mockingjay friends I have, and about my signal for the end of the workday. Then I sing her my little song. Katniss unclasps her pin and hold it out to me.

"Here, you take it. It has more meaning for you than me."

I close her fingers back around the golden bird. "Oh, no. I like to see it on you. That's how I decided I could trust you. Besides, I have this," I say, pulling my woven grass necklace from my shirt. "It's a good luck charm."

"Well, it's worked so far," Katniss tells me. "Maybe you should just stick with that." She pins the mockingjay back on her shirt.

We have a plan by lunch, and are ready to follow through with it in the early afternoon. Katniss helps me set up wood for two campfires. I will make and light a third by myself later. We will meet at the place where we ate our dinner last night, because the stream will lead us to it.

Katniss makes sure I have enough food and matches. She also hands me her sleeping bag.

"Won't you be cold?" I ask.

"Not if I pick up another bag down by the lake. You know, stealing isn't illegal here," Katniss replies with a grin.

Last minute, I decide to teach her my mockingjay signal, so we can communicate. It's the same one I use at the end of the workday at home.

"It might not work. But if you can hear the mockingjays singing it, you'll know I'm okay, only I can't get back right away," I say.

"Are there mockingjays here?" Katniss asks, and when I tell her there are a lot of nests, she admits she hasn't noticed them.

"Okay, then. If all goes according to plan, I'll see you for dinner," she says.

Then I wrap my arms around her. Katniss hugs me back.

"You be careful," I tell her.

"You, too."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter title's a little obvious, aye? ;)**

**Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction site. Therefore, you should already know that I am not a real author. **

Chapter 17: The Spear

I turn from Katniss, the only person who has made me feel safe in days, a week maybe. Even though I was alone the entire time before I made an alliance with Katniss, I feel lonely and scared in the woods. But I keep walking around in circles, until I remember the fires I am supposed to light.

I'm very close to the first one, though, and Katniss will need a lot of time to figure out what the trick to destroying the supplies is. Until then, she doesn't need the distraction of a fire.

A cluster of berry bushes is nearby, so I stuff one handful into my mouth and two more into my pack. The mud has faded from the blue fabric, so I search for mud to camouflage it with. Katniss gave me her bottle of iodine after filling and purifying both our water carriers. I drink half of the water in my skin, thinking I'll refill it later.

Maybe twenty minutes later, I am at a pond again. I have no idea how many are in the arena, but there are definitely a lot. My pack is covered in mud again, the blue gone, and my water skin is full and clean.

Now I should light my first fire. I wander back to the pile of green wood, so the smoke will be visible to the Careers, and use matches and dry branches to light it. The heat feels great, so I sit on a fallen tree ten feet away.

I stay there for a while, but soon it's time to move on and light my second fire. I walk for a long time, taking in the drastic change of temperature, seeing how much the plant life changes in just this short distance. On the way, I stop and bathe again. Soot from the fire covers me.

The second fire has less wood and slightly less smoke, because the Careers will be suspicious by now. Who in their right minds would light two very smoky fires in almost darkness? No one, so they will know it's a trick. Still, I think they will come to investigate. I hope I can be far up a tree when they do.

The final fire doesn't have to be lit for a long time; I'm waiting for some signal that Katniss has destroyed the food. In answer to my thoughts, there's an explosion. Hopefully, this means Katniss has just blown up the food, and not herself with it. A few minutes later, a cannon fires. Was it Katniss? I have to wait until tonight to find out.

Night is not far away. The anthem plays, and the faces are the boys from Districts 3 and 10. Asher, and I don't know the other boy's name. I'm guessing Asher died in the explosion, because he was with the Careers. Too bad it wasn't Cato or one of the real Careers.

So Katniss is still alive. Good, but obviously I don't have dinner plans with her tonight. Right, I need dinner. I eat the rabbit leg Katniss gave me this morning and some roots. A few sips of water, and I roll out Katniss' sleeping bag and perch on a low branch. The fabric provides a cushioned seat. I will go light the final fire after I rest.

My eyes flutter open. Oh, no! I never lit the last fire! Katniss will be wondering. I stand up, realizing that it's the furthest away of all. I'm glad it's still dark, so she might still see the smoke sent by the flames.

But why hasn't she come looking for me? Or at least sung the four notes that mean she's safe? I figure she must be busy too and climb a tree. It takes just a few minutes to spread out the sleeping bag and lie down.

I have just gotten comfortable when there's footsteps below me. The boy from District 1 is under my tree! I must stay quiet. My only comfort is that he is weaponless, probably sent by the others to investigate the fires. But I have to light the last fire soon. How will I get down?

A mockingjay lands next to me. Since I'm so high up, the boy won't hear me sing quietly. I softly sing the song I taught Katniss to the bird. It flies off, echoing my tune. The boy glances up at the music, but I guess he thinks the mockingjay already knew the song and decided to burst out in melody.

I'm glad I can move silently through trees, so I can climb higher, but I don't want to risk any sound by jumping between them. When I'm sure he won't find me, I fall asleep.

I wish the warmth of Katniss was here now. I wish I was not in the Hunger Games. I wish I could see my sisters one last time. And I wish I could live to see them grow up.

I remember Rosie being jealous of the twins when they were babies, because she was used to all the attention. I was the only one to console her.

"Rue, nobody loves me anymore. Except you. But Mommy and Dad only like Aspen and Willow now," a four-year-old Rosie had explained.

"Of course they love you. You got all the attention when you were two, and Lilac was really jealous. When the twins get older, and don't need to be looked after all the time, it will be back to normal," I answered. I didn't explain that another baby was on the way; that would upset her more.

"Oh. Okay, then. Soon it will be good again," Rosie muttered. Then she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

My dreams that night are horrible. I see what have to be all the possible ways to die, for my sisters and parents to die, and disturbing images of dying tributes from past years haunt my sleeping brain.

Weapons, sicknesses, poisons, attacks, natural causes, I see them all. Movement below me wakes me. The boy from District 1 is pacing, then he walks away.

_Now's my chance,_ I think. I climb down until I'm about ten feet off the ground. The boy is nowhere to be seen. As I prepare to bolt away, I trip on a coil of wire tied to some branches. A clanging noise, and the footsteps are back. I try to run again, but a net falls, entangling me.

The boy appears. He has sleek blond hair and icy blue eyes. They look murderous. I'm about to find out. If I scream, he might just snap my neck, so I stay mute.

"Gotcha!" the boy exclaims and whistles under his breath. "Now I'll just leave you here while I go get something to kill you with." He sounds as casual as if he's invited me for dinner and is going to grab a coat.

I wriggle in the net, but it's wrapped at least twice around my body. My pack is still over one shoulder; I'm surprised he didn't take it with him. If only my arms weren't trapped, I could use my rock to cut the net free. I'm still afraid to scream, because he might hear and get here before Katniss does.

More pounding steps, cracking twigs and stepping on dry leaves. I hope it's Katniss, but she has such soft tread. No, I can see my captor now. And he's holding a spear.

_This is it,_ I tell myself. My eyes are squeezed shut. The spear, surprisingly, has not entered my body yet. Maybe he's waiting for Katniss to make her watch my death. The boy raises the weapon and aims it at my stomach.

I let out a high-pitched scream, the kind only I am capable of here. No sixteen-year-old boy could make this noise.

"Katniss! Katniss!" I cry, panicking.

**Review please?**


	18. Chapter 18

**Warning: If you are easily saddened by, oh, the death of an innocent child, be cautious.**

**Yeah, it's short. :p Not much to do when you're dead. **

**Disclaimer: Do I really have to?**

Chapter 18: The Song

"Rue! Rue, I'm coming!" I hear. She's close! Maybe she can save me before the spear turns me into a shish-kabob. I know these from the marketplace in District 11. We can never afford them, but Lilac always wanders to stands to look.

Just as she bursts through the bushes, sending berries flying, the boy from One smirks. I scream her name again, reach my hand through the net, and feel the tears roll down my cheeks as the spear enters my stomach.

Katniss sinks an arrow into the boy's neck, and he pulls it out, starting to drown in his own blood. She goes frantic, asking me questions rapidly.

"Are there more? Are there more?" I answer several times before she hears it. No, there are not more. Katniss cuts the netting away.

My hand reaches up and Katniss grabs it like she were dying, not me.

"You blew up the food?" I rasp. Even this sentence makes me breathless.

"Every last bit," Katniss promises.

"You have to win," I whisper anxiously.

"I'm going to. Going to win for both of us now." Katniss is fighting to keep her voice steady. A cannon fires; the boy from One is dead.

"Don't go," I beg.

"Course not," Katniss says, pulling my head into her lap. I glance up, hoping my face shows the relief I'm too breathless to speak.

"Sing," I breathe, twice before she hears. Did her ears get damaged in the explosion? Maybe.

Katniss hesitates, but swallows and begins in a beautiful voice.

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow,_

Willow. I'll never be able to hold her again.

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow,_

_ Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

If I close my eyes, they may not reopen.

_And when again they open, the sun will rise,_

But now, the sun is setting.

_Here it's safe, here it's warm,_

It is warm, probably from my blood.

_And here the daisies guard you from every harm_

Rosie was almost named Daisy.

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true,_

If I get to see tomorrow.

_Here is the place where I love you._

I love you, Mother, Father.

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

_ A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray,_

And Lilac.

_Forget your woes, and let your troubles lay,_

Except my trouble is that I'm laying and can't stand.

_And when again it's morning, they'll wash away,_

Bye, Rosie.

_Here it's safe, here it's warm,_

The song gets quieter. Aspen and Willow.

_ And here the daisies guard you from every harm_

Lavender.

_ Here your dreams are sweet, tomorrow brings them true,_

_ Here is the place where I love you._

I think the last three words with the song to my family.

A tear, not my own, drips onto my face, and I fall asleep.

**That would be the end. But I have two little epilogue things. If I get three reviews, I will post them both. 'Kay?**


	19. Epilogue One: The Mutt

**Wow! That was really fast! :) Well, a promise is a promise. Here's epilogue 1. Yes, it's super short…**

**Disclaimer: Actually, though I do not own The Hunger Games, Rue, or the mutts, I do own this "plotline". Hurrah!**

Epilogue: The Mutt

Far away, in a clean white room, a mutt wakes up. The mutt's memories are blurry and vague, as though they were not its own.

It is angry, but is confused as to why. Hatred fills the place where a heart would beat. A picture of a girl with olive skin and dark hair is the only clear thing in its mind.

Soon another image comes to the animal. A blond boy, with blue eyes. The mutt knows it must kill these people, because they remained when it did not. Does it really want to kill them? No; a very hazy memory makes it think of something happy. But it has to. An irresistible instinct compels it.

The mutt leaps up off the table. Now it has a purpose. It just needs to be fulfilled.

Which means the boy and girl must die. The mutt will stop at nothing. _I am Rue, _it thinks, _and they will _rue_ letting me die._

**Random Note: Has anyone heard the THG soundtrack song, Safe and Sound! It's by Taylor Swift, the best singer ever, and for THG the best thing ever to grace this universe. Go listen to it!**


	20. Epilogue Two Rosie

**Here we go! It's in italics 'cause I said so. The writing's really childish because it's hard to write intelligently from a six-year-old's perspective. **

_Epilogue Two-Rosie's POV_

"_Rosie, don't look, okay?" Lilac says. But I want to look. I see Rue and a big girl talking. Rue is crying._

_ "Get the big girl away! She's hurting Rue!" I scream. Then I cry too. _

_ "No, Rosie, that girl is helping Rue."_

_ "Oh."_

_ Then the big girl starts singing. I don't know the song, but it makes me sleepy. _

_ "Good. Keep your eyes closed," Lilac says bossily._

_ "I don't want to! I want to see Rue!" I cry. _

_ "Okay. Now, see, Rue's eyes are closed too. It's like playing a game. Now you close your eyes too."_

_ I love games! So I cover my face and lay my head on Lilac's shoulder. _

_ After a long time, I ask if I can watch Rue again. Lilac keeps saying no. Finally, I feel tired. The TV makes a loud noise._

_ "Lilac? Can I sleep?" _

_ "Yeah. Rue is sleeping too, now. Go to sleep." She sounds sad, like she's crying. _

_ In my dream, Rue says, "I'm sleeping too, I'm sleeping too."_

**If anyone has another idea for an epilogue, PM me or leave a review with it and I'll write it and credit you!**


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